


Take This Lonely Heart

by anivhee



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blow Jobs, Clubbing, Dancing, Drunk Kissing, Dubious Consent due to Alcohol, Enjolras & Courfeyrac Friendship, Feelings, First Kiss, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, Jealousy, Kissing, Les Mis Big Bang: Quarantine Edition, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Minor Combeferre/Courfeyrac, Minor Cosette/Eponine, Minor Joly/Bossuet Laigle/Musichetta, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Pining Enjolras, Rimming, like the side ships are tiny, so many feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-06
Updated: 2020-05-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:34:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24035146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anivhee/pseuds/anivhee
Summary: Enjolras has always been blessed with strong convictions. For one, he's positive he's not the type to dabble in casual hookups. And more importantly, Enjolras is sure Grantaire doesn't see him as relationship material.But as it turns out, just because you're certain doesn't mean you're right.
Relationships: Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables)
Comments: 44
Kudos: 283
Collections: Les Mis Big Bang: Quarantine Edition





	Take This Lonely Heart

**Author's Note:**

> THIS THING. I can't believe I went for it. I'm so honestly floored with everything right now, so thankful to so many people for helping me with this beast! This fic was meant to be 6k, but. Well. Enjolras has a lot of feelings. 
> 
> I want to thank Dove, for doing the amazing [art](https://starfieldcanvas.tumblr.com/post/617348267962974208/this-is-my-cover-piece-for-johnnsilvers) for this fic, for being emotional support, for helping me with grammar, and overall being GREAT! I'm so glad we were paired together. You are amazing. I also want to thank Sam for looking over this fic religiously, and encouraging both Dove and I and keeping us in tabs! You both are amazing, I'm honestly so happy this fest brought us together. Thank you for putting up with me, lol. Any remaining mistakes in this are my own. 
> 
> Thanks to the mods for their support and their patience!
> 
> And eternal thanks to Ana and Martina for being the best people to exist. You guys will go to heaven. 
> 
> AH, it's been years since I write fic, and this has been insane. I'm so grateful to everyone who helped make this happen! 
> 
> *Title from "Take This Lonely Heart", by Nothing But Thieves. Literally pulled me through, and is just the best song tbh.

“You know I hate beer.” Enjolras pushes the can back at Joly, who smiles sheepishly.

“Sorry! We thought we could buy a few six packs to start us off, but you could order something else?”

Enjolras considers whether or not it’s a good idea to get alcohol – it’s a Friday, all of his friends are here, and it seems like for once they’re not all getting drunk. Plus, it’s not like he’s a lightweight; alcohol couldn’t completely numb him like it could many others. It might be good to relax for a bit. 

“You could always get wine,” Grantaire says, saluting him with his flask. He always makes every bartender put whatever he orders in the flask, claiming he’s saving the environment one glass at a time, which is stupid, but Enjolras finds it endearing all the same. “A martini? Let’s get a cocktail, something flashy!” Grantaire turns to the rest of the table and laughs, and, oh. He’s already on his way to getting drunk (not there yet, though, he hasn’t started throwing out gibberish that’s meant to make sense… yet). Fortunately, Grantaire doesn’t get blackout drunk anymore, not like he used to. Still, Enjolras gets an uneasy feeling whenever he sees Grantaire under the influence, since it never brings anything good.

Back in the day, Grantaire used to be slumped at the back of the room, bottle in hand (because back then it was a bottle, not a flask), making snarky comments about their “dumb ideas”, which angered Enjolras to no end. Their arguments are the subject of many nostalgic memories amongst their friends, but to this day it stings to remember the way he used to feel after fighting with Grantaire.

The thing is, he used to really dislike Grantaire. Or at least that’s what he used to tell himself, annoyed with the idea of having someone so inherently opposed to everything they stood for attending their meetings. At first, Enjolras wasn’t sure if it was all an act, if maybe Grantaire just wanted to play tough for whatever reason. Maybe he thought they weren’t serious enough? Maybe he was just a contradictory person? Enjolras really wanted to believe there was more to Grantaire than what he was showing, because he couldn’t understand how someone with beliefs so different than theirs could get along so well with everyone (but Enjolras, obviously).

For the most part Enjolras tried to get along with him. If not in their meetings, at least outside of them. He went along to every outing, every party, every social event that his friends threw, and Grantaire would always be there.

His pride would usually get in the way, of course – eventually Grantaire would say something that would set him off and they’d be arguing about the most ridiculous things, which didn’t really do much for his messy feelings.

Because underneath it all, Enjolras _was_ feeling. He hated to admit it, but he used to feel so attracted to Grantaire – with his tattoos, and his arms, and his fucking _voice_ that drove Enjolras mad for more than one reason. But it wasn’t just the way he looked. It would’ve been easier if it had just been the way he looked.

Grantaire, for all his constant complaining about the state of the world, actually really cared about a lot of things. It was truly exasperating to hear him rant about the “true nature of humanity”, claiming humans were the epitome of destruction, while he dedicated his free time to creating and building bonds with everything that moved. Enjolras knew Grantaire volunteered at the animal shelter that was close to their school, he knew Grantaire walked around the streets of Paris at night because he liked to meet new people. He knew Grantaire kept a sketchbook filled with drawings of people in the street, people in the museum, people in the subway. He only shared the ones where there was a funny expression on someone’s face, giving it as a present to any of their friends.

Grantaire loved people, which was maddening. He wore his heart on his sleeve; he was constantly putting everyone else first. He made jokes when someone was sad. He listened if someone needed him to, or he partied if that’s what someone else wanted. He was so, so much more than what he normally gave himself credit for.

So, was it really so unreasonable for Enjolras to fall in love with him? Was he the only one who could see through Grantaire’s nonsense? Or was he placing ideals onto him, projecting what Enjolras wanted Grantaire to be underneath?

The alcohol made it hard, sometimes. Enjolras battled with the childish need to take the bottle away and scream at him to stop drinking so much, since Grantaire only said horrible things while drunk. 

“Oh, Enjolras,” Jehan says now, grabbing his hands. They’re in a little club that Courfeyrac found a few months ago, reserved for whenever they have time to ‘decompress’, as Combeferre would say. Enjolras would love to say that after university their lives had remained as entwined as they had been when he and his friends were running around in Cosette’s old minivan, handing out pamphlets and signing off petitions, but it wasn’t like that anymore. They still find the time to throw a meeting here and there, but with everyone’s busy schedules consistency becomes a challenge.

Nowadays, if everyone wants to be present, the only chance they get to spend time together is mostly when there’s months of planning before. Or when something big happens. Most of them try to meet weekly, though, even if it’s hard. 

And it’s not like they don’t speak politics when they catch up, or plan their monthly write up, or look into what could be done in their community. But sometimes disconnecting from the world and rejoicing in their love for one another is what they need.

“Do you want me to get you something?” asks Jehan, his grey eyes glinting with the lights in the table. “These guys love to be cheap, but you and I can enjoy something softer. Gin and tonic?” Enjolras rolls his eyes and nods. He’s not too fond of meeting up with everyone in clubs, which everybody is aware of, but he gives in anyway since he loves watching his friends having fun.

He watches as Grantaire laughs at Bossuet, who is doing a poor imitation of something Enjolras didn’t hear. It’s been years. Literal years, and the stupid crush grew into something he couldn’t control anymore. And did he try to control it back in the day.

It just wasn’t practical. It didn’t make sense to be mooning over someone so fundamentally different than him, and yet. And yet.

His pulse still quickens when Grantaire smiles at him, Enjolras still gets goosebumps when he’s close enough to touch. His stomach flips when Grantaire leans close and talks to him. Even now.

There’s a lump in his throat now. It’s been a while since he has wanted to talk to Grantaire about it, but he knows it will be futile. Grantaire has only slept around in the years he has known him (which had already been crushing enough, to watch him flirt around in pubs and clubs and watch him take someone home), plus Grantaire had always mock-flirted with him (which always left Enjolras three steps away from screaming, since he knows Grantaire doesn’t mean it like he wants him to). There’s also that one time where he heard Grantaire talk about him to his friends, which Enjolras can’t forget about. Enjolras can’t be a one-night stand only. He doesn’t want that.

Jehan comes back with their drinks. A small part of him wishes Grantaire had seen what Enjolras is drinking, if only just to see what he would say, but he’s dancing with Joly (Bossuet is just smiling dumbly at them from their table). The music is upbeat, so they’re mostly jumping around. Grantaire grabs Joly by the shoulders as they jump, laughing.

Enjolras takes a sip of the tonic. It’s a bit stronger than usual. He raises his brow.

“Is there something wrong?” Jehan smiles innocently at him, showing his dimples. “You can take a bit more gin than tonic, can’t you?”

There’s a small part of him that thinks that it’s weird for Jehan to point that out, but he carries on. “Sure,” he says, taking another sip. His eyes gravitate towards the dance floor again, searching for R.

“You do know we can also go down there and dance with them, right?”

Enjolras looks back at him, frowning. Yes, he knows they can, but why–

“Guys!” Courfeyrac comes to the table, smiling. He’s sweating and his pupils are blown wide. He’s still wearing the dress shirt he most likely wore to his job, but he buttoned it down to make it look more suitable for the occasion. He plops down next to Enjolras and takes a beer from the table. He grimaces when he takes a sip and takes Enjolras’ glass instead. “Fucking hate beer,” he says softly. Enjolras feels privately comforted. 

Courfeyrac takes a sip of his drink and looks back at him. “Nice.” Is all he says, giving it back. “Enjolras.” Courfeyrac leans in with the air of a man who wants to say something important in confidence. Enjolras humors him, amused at seeing him clearly drunk. “I know you hate this place, and I’m really sorry to drag you here every time we organize one of these,” he gestures with his hands around him vaguely. “But have you ever thought about joining us when we go out there dancing?” He nods at the dance floor, where Joly and Grantaire are still jumping up and down, looking like they’re still in university instead of their actual age. Watching Grantaire having so much fun makes something heavy twist inside Enjolras. Sure, it’s a really good sight, but it also puts him on edge.

He remembers being nineteen, joining every party, every social gathering his friends invited him to. It was a time of exploring, meeting new people. For a while he only thought of it as a step to encounter like-minded individuals who he could connect to, even invite them to their activist endeavours. That’s how he met Bahorel, who in turn introduced them all to Grantaire. Obviously back then it hadn’t even crossed Enjolras’ mind that Grantaire would end up so entwined in their lives, nor them to his, and yet.

He didn’t think Grantaire would actually go to their meetings after he first met him. Their first meeting had been a disaster – Enjolras maybe a bit too high up his horse and Grantaire drunk out of his mind. He originally dismissed him as just another one of the party hard kind, which had been incredibly arrogant of him (and hypocritical, considering everyone _was_ partying like there was no tomorrow when they started school). To be fair, Grantaire _did_ party hard, harder than all of them. The semi semblance of control Enjolras thought he had over the meetings’ schedules went out the window when Grantaire first joined, which was another point of contention between them. Plus there was also the whole ‘You guys know we’re like, kids, right? Who is going to listen to us?’ and all of that.

And then the whole… situation happened.

It was a pub night after a meeting. At the time Joly, Bossuet and Grantaire were starting their devoted friendship, and so they dragged everyone to the nearest pub to get promptly drunk. Enjolras remembers being so upset that day – Grantaire had apparently made it his mission to rile him up at any chance. The most maddening part was that it wasn’t like he was contradicting him or being antsy out of spite, he was just. Flirting with him. Or at least it had seemed like flirting, which had made Enjolras’ brain have a kind of short circuit at the time.

Okay, fine. It hadn’t been actual flirting, only Enjolras wasn’t sure what to call it. It was more like Grantaire was slumped in the back, drunk (as usual), his hand under his chin, looking at Enjolras with a weird intensity that Enjolras didn’t know how to place. Every time he finished an argument Grantaire would sigh loudly and say something weird about how beautiful he was. Enjolras had been flustered and confused, since their relationship had been anything but friendly (let alone _flirty_ ) at that point.

His confusion only grew when he was dragged to the stupid pub and Grantaire kept giving him these _looks_ – like a mix between pain and something more. Enjolras didn’t even know if he was supposed to talk to him or fight him or ignore him, so he made himself busy talking with Combeferre and Courfeyrac.

Then it was as if nothing had happened. Grantaire snapped out of whatever stupor he had been in and started joking around with Joly and Bossuet. Enjolras couldn’t help but notice how he was purposefully avoiding him (not that Enjolras was trying to catch his eye or anything), which annoyed him for a reason he didn’t understand back then, but knows perfectly well now.

He waited for Courfeyrac so they could leave together that day, annoyed that he and Combeferre had gotten drunk and had fun when Enjolras was going through a mini crisis. The pub was dwindling down then, until it was mostly his friends and a handful of patrons left. Enjolras couldn’t stop thinking about what the hell had gotten into Grantaire, annoyed at himself for paying so much attention to it when it must have been clearly a joke of some kind.

Still irritated, he helped Courfeyrac to the bathroom, his mind still reeling about the way Grantaire’s eyes had looked when he was staring at Enjolras earlier. It was so distracting. Once Enjolras made sure Courfeyrac would be okay, he decided to wait for him outside and walked towards the bar. The sound of his name drew his attention, turning to where Joly was sprawled all over Bossuet (they weren’t even dating yet) smiling at Grantaire. They were too close to each other to notice that Enjolras was looking at them.

“…you know, it’s fine if you do,” Joly was saying to Grantaire. Enjolras looked at Grantaire and frowned. Grantaire was staring at his bottle with a weird grimace on his face. Enjolras could only see his profile from where he was standing, though, so maybe he was smiling.

There was something in his expression that rooted Enjolras to his spot, for whatever reason. He was curious despite himself, so he turned a little so they wouldn’t see him staring like a creep.

“What do you mean?” Grantaire said. Enjolras couldn’t see him very well, but he could hear tension in his voice. “I was just being dumb earlier.”

“Sure,” Joly laughed. “But there’s nothing wrong if you have a crush on Enjolras, you know. He’s a really nice person.”

“Oh, I’m sure he’s a great person.” Grantaire drawled, which bothered Enjolras. He turned, despite himself, his heart beating fast. “I bet he’s really good in bed, too, given how passionate he is.” Grantaire drank from his bottle, oblivious of Enjolras’ stare. “He’s hot, I’ll give you that. But a crush? Nah, I’m not stupid.”

Enjolras couldn’t move. He could see Bossuet saying something back, but he couldn’t hear what it was due to the ringing in his ears. He wanted to yell at Grantaire, walk up to him and make him see that he had heard, that Enjolras knew what Grantaire thought of him, but he just stood there, like an idiot, anger running through his veins.

Honestly, he was more upset at himself than Grantaire. What could he expect? It’s not like they had talked about anything of substance at that point. They mostly disagreed on everything. Grantaire is – _was_ – always drinking, always partying. Why would he see more of Enjolras if their priorities were so distant?

Enjolras was hurt, though. It stung, to hear Grantaire say that, and that bothered him too. Enjolras knew people found him attractive, but he had never heard someone talk about him like that, like he was just something to lust after.

It wasn’t a big deal, though. Or at least that’s what Enjolras told himself. It’s not like he was looking for a relationship with Grantaire or cared about him as a person. Grantaire was more a friend of his friends than his actual friend. So, who cares if Grantaire just wants to have sex? They’re not going to have sex, ever, so fuck him.

Unfortunately, his heart wasn’t in it as much as he would’ve liked.

It only put Grantaire’s teasing in a new light. Ever since that incident, every time Grantaire sighed and commented on Enjolras’ looks, or his voice, or his presence, or his _anything_ , Enjolras knew where he was coming from, which was horrible. Every chance where Grantaire mentioned how passionate Enjolras was angered him, which led to many of their arguments over the years. Sadly, as Enjolras got to know him more, Grantaire stopped being the party hard dumbass he first thought and turned into only Grantaire, with all his complexities and nuances, with the tattoos and the voice and the eyes that drove Enjolras mad for more reasons than he cared to admit, even to himself.

Sometimes he can forget that he overheard Grantaire talking about him like that. It’s been years now, it’s unrealistic to think that Grantaire still thinks of him that way nowadays. They’re friends now. Grantaire doesn’t joke about his looks anymore (well, only when he’s drunk, which is why Enjolras’ stomach twists when he sees him drink). Grantaire doesn’t push at Enjolras’ buttons the same way he used to – they banter now, rather than fight. They argue, yes, but it’s different.

It’s absolutely frustrating.

“You know,” Feuilly says now, bringing Enjolras back to the present. He’s leaning over the table, so Enjolras can hear him. Grantaire is still dancing. “I hate dancing, personally, so I get it. But I have to admit it looks really fun.”

What’s with all this insistence on dancing? Enjolras looks back at Jehan, who is communicating some sort of message with his eyes to Courfeyrac. He’s about to comment on that when _Combeferre_ of all people speaks up.

“Do you want to dance?” is what he says. Enjolras is so thrown by the request – he was _not_ expecting this at all… especially from Combeferre – that he nods. He then realizes what he did and is about to take it back when he feels Combeferre’s firm hands on his forearms, pulling him up. Okay, he actually doesn’t–

His eyes find Grantaire and Joly before he can help it, who are still jumping up and down, belting out the lyrics of the song that’s playing. Enjolras can’t hear them from where he’s being pulled, but it doesn’t matter. In a second he’s right next to them, Combeferre and Courfeyrac dragging Enjolras towards them. He realizes what they’re doing and tries to pull back, but they insist, so Enjolras finds himself in a weird tug of war situation while bodies start bumping into him. Surely there’s no need to get that close to Joly and Grantaire! They’re already in their own thing, for god’s sake.

A body slams into Enjolras’ back, knocking him off towards Courfeyrac, who smiles at him and grabs him by the shoulders – just like Grantaire had done to Joly earlier – and shakes him to the beat of the music. God, Enjolras hates this. Why did he agree to this?

“Stop thinking about it so much!” Courfeyrac yells over the music. Combeferre stands next to him, looking a little out of sorts for someone who _initiated this whole thing_. Enjolras doesn’t think complaining about this will do much, though.

Enjolras does his best to focus on something other than the fact that Grantaire is really close to him and hasn’t even noticed. He doesn’t want a repeat of someone propelling him into an unwanted place (like Grantaire’s arms, but who is he kidding, that wouldn’t be unwanted), so Enjolras moves around Combeferre and Courfeyrac to use them as a barrier between him and Grantaire. Sadly, Joly notices them then, yelling in excitement and tugging Courfeyrac to the side, so they can all look at each other. God, no.

Combeferre immediately moves towards Courfeyrac, leaving Enjolras next to Grantaire. Of course. Of fucking course.

There’s a lot of movement around them – the beat of the music peaks up, a lot of people jump. Enjolras hates this. He doesn’t know how to dance, everyone knows this. _It’s just jumping up and down, though_ , a little annoying voice tells him. And it is. But what does he do with his hands? God, why is Grantaire so _close_? This is horrible. Grantaire’s probably going to make fun of him for being bad at _jumping_ , for fuck’s sake.

 _Stop thinking about it so much_ , Courfeyrac voice repeats in his head. This is stupid. Why can’t he just let go like everyone else? Grantaire looks so good, too, only a threadbare shirt on, exposing the tattoos on his arms and his neck. He’s sweating so much, but it suits him. Enjolras swallows. 

Grantaire looks back at Enjolras and then does a double take, and it would be funny if Enjolras’ heart wasn’t hammering against his chest. He has long forgotten about the rest of their friends on the dance floor, his eyes seem to have locked into Grantaire’s. There’s a small question in his eyes, but as the bodies around them press up more, they end up closer than what Enjolras was expecting. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck–

“Oh, how the mighty have fallen.” Grantaire smiles at him, and goddammit, Enjolras hates that _that’s_ what Grantaire chose to go with. Grantaire looks over at where Joly is now jumping up and down with Combeferre and Courfeyrac and something seems to cross his expression, but he gets out of it quickly. “Having fun?”

“I have no idea of what I’m doing,” Enjolras yells, like an idiot. Grantaire laughs, which is both nice and horrible, and then puts his hands on Enjolras’ shoulders, just like he did with Joly. Enjolras wants to die.

“It’s simple!” Grantaire yells over the beating of Enjolras’ heart. “Up and down. Just let go, I got you.”

And fuck, wouldn’t that be nice?

Grantaire’s eyes look black under the lightning. Enjolras wants to scream.

In a sudden burst of courage, he puts his hands over Grantaire’s shoulders too. He smiles nervously at him, but Grantaire smiles back. The pulse of the music reverberates through Enjolras’ body, the press of everyone around them in tandem with the beat pumps him up and has Enjolras finally letting go, grabbing hold of Grantaire and just jumping. He really underestimated how good _jumping_ feels like. Which is dumb to think about, isn’t it? All kids like jumping, it’s not unreasonable that the activity is fun. He looks at Grantaire, who is singing along with whatever the song is saying. He looks so happy, which makes Enjolras’ heart twist painfully.

Suddenly Enjolras’ hands feel too big and clumsy on Grantaire’s shoulders. Enjolras thinks maybe he’s pressing too hard; maybe Grantaire can feel how awkward Enjolras is. Grantaire’s hands feel warm and strong on Enjolras’ shoulders, though, which doesn’t feel as uncomfortable as Enjolras originally thought. They feel good – great, even. Why is he worrying so much? They’re already here.

Grantaire’s eyes meet his, and he smiles again, showing his teeth. Enjolras can’t help but smile back, the heavy weight in his chest swooping south, making him dizzy with excitement. The music keeps going, the bodies around them pushing them so much that Enjolras wraps one arm around Grantaire, pressing him closer. Grantaire’s eyes open wide, but he doesn’t push Enjolras away. Instead, he grabs Enjolras by the waist, holding him steady. Enjolras puts the other arm around his other shoulder and throws his head back. He can feel Grantaire’s hands squeezing a bit harder on his waist, but he doesn’t mind. This feels nice.

When he looks back at Grantaire there’s the intense look on his eyes again. The one that makes Enjolras uneasy. Only this time, it doesn’t feel like a bad thing. It’s exciting. It makes him want to see it more. Enjolras wants to see every single thing of Grantaire, everything, especially what he keeps to himself. He wants to get inside Grantaire’s head and understand him, open him up like a pomegranate and consume it all. Enjolras wants to keep touching him forever, wants to learn the texture of his skin from head to toe. He wants, he _wants_ –

Fuck.

The song fades into another one, still upbeat, but they’re not jumping as much. Somewhere in the middle of the transition they come closer, until they’re embracing. Grantaire’s arms are around his waist now, his body flush against his own. Their heads are side to side, Enjolras’ cheek next to Grantaire’s forehead. He can feel the sweat and the heat coming from Grantaire but it doesn’t bother him at all. Enjolras wants to be here forever.

They’re swaying side to side now, and god, how is Enjolras supposed to go on without this now when he knows what it feels like? It’s so good. Enjolras feels like he can do anything. He _wants_ to do everything.

He turns his head around a little and feels Grantaire’s breath on his face. His stomach is turning and turning, his heart pounding in his chest. He could easily lean in and kiss him. Enjolras thinks of every time he’s wanted to close the distance, every time he stopped himself from flirting back with Grantaire. He thinks about the way Grantaire feels in his arms, the press of his body and the desire that’s making him ache. 

Fuck it.

Enjolras leans in and brushes his lips against Grantaire’s, his nerves on edge. There’s a beat where nothing happens, but then Grantaire kisses him back. Enjolras feels as if an electrical current zaps through his body and brings him back to life. He’s being burned from the inside, the heat suffocating him. It’s not unpleasant. It’s anything but unpleasant. God, why the hell had he never done this before? Grantaire’s lips are so soft against his. His arms hold Enjolras tighter, and it feels too good to be true. Enjolras runs his hands through Grantaire’s hair and fuck, it feels as soft as he always imagined. Grantaire puts a knee between Enjolras’ legs and _oh_ , they’re so much closer like this, the proximity making him dizzy with desire. 

Enjolras doesn’t want to stop. Grantaire kisses like he’s starving, like he wants to eat Enjolras alive. Enjolras lets him: he would let him do anything right now. He hears excited yelling near them, but they’re in a club, so it could be anything. He wraps his arms around Grantaire’s neck and kisses him deeper, all the years of craving spilling out of him. Grantaire runs his hands down his back, searing through Enjolras’ skin. This is more than he could have ever imagined. Grantaire pulls away and looks deep into his eyes. Enjolras feels like he’s drowning. 

He smiles at Grantaire and kisses him again.

• • •

Enjolras is giddy with excitement an hour later, draped all over Grantaire’s couch, kissing him deeply. He vaguely remembers their friends’ faces, all smiling like loons, beckoning them away when he and Grantaire were making dumb excuses to leave the club. Enjolras was desperate to get out of there as soon as possible, and it had seemed like Grantaire was, too.

Grantaire’s weight is pinning him against the couch, his hands running through Enjolras’ hair. Enjolras melts – surely Grantaire must know the effect he’s having on him, right? This is unbelievable. It feels too good to be true.

Enjolras has been hard for ages. The pressure of his erection against his jeans is killing him, especially knowing that Grantaire is hard as well. Enjolras wants to take their clothes off, wants to feel Grantaire’s skin against his own, no layers in between. The need is so strong that he can barely stand it.

Grantaire kisses Enjolras’ neck and trails little kisses along his collarbone, and god, this is too much and not enough. Enjolras pushes up against him, pressing his erection against Grantaire’s stomach. Grantaire groans, biting his neck softly, and Enjolras shudders. He sinks his fingers in Grantaire’s curls, pulling him back up for another kiss. Grantaire’s hands roam under Enjolras’ shirt, feeling the planes of his chest. Enjolras thinks he’s going to die. 

Grantaire breaks free of the kiss, riding Enjolras’ shirt up enough so that he lowers on his chest, grazing Enjolras’ nipples with his tongue. Enjolras pants, gripping Grantaire’s hair tighter. 

Grantaire laughs softly, kissing right next to Enjolras’ heart. Enjolras freezes.

Because this is it, right? They’re going to fuck. Against his own reservations and his fears and the horrible truth that this is not going to be as special to Grantaire as it will be for him.

It’s like a bucket of ice-cold water pours down on him. Enjolras can’t help but think about that night, years ago, when Grantaire said he would only be good as a one-night stand. _It happened years ago_ , a small voice tells him. Sure, but that doesn’t change the fact that Grantaire doesn’t feel the same for him.

Grantaire pulls away enough to take off his own shirt, and god, Enjolras really wants him. He really, really wants him. But he can’t do this to himself.

“Everything okay?” Grantaire asks. Enjolras must be really obvious. Something inside him is screaming at him to just go with it, it doesn’t matter, he _wants_ this, has wanted it for _years_ , who cares if it’s just a one time thing?

He definitely cares.

“What are we doing?” Enjolras whispers. His heart is beating too fast. He doesn’t know what he wants Grantaire to say.

“What?” Grantaire looks confused. Fuck. “What do you mean?”

“Just.” Fuck, why did he open his mouth? He gestures between them. “This.”

“I don’t think I follow,” Grantaire says. “Is everything okay?”

He looks worried now, which is _wrong_ , this is not how this was supposed to go. Fucking hell, what is Enjolras even doing? Grantaire leans over him and places a hand on Enjolras’ chest.

“I just,” Enjolras starts, at a loss for words. “Well, what does this mean?” He feels so stupid asking this, why is he asking this? He knows what this is.

There’s a second where a thousand expressions cross Grantaire’s face, but before Enjolras has time to try to understand what any of them mean, Grantaire settles on a weird, detached face that Enjolras doesn’t like. It’s too different from the way he looked just minutes ago, open and vulnerable.

“It can be whatever you want,” he says, but that’s not right. It’s not going to be what Enjolras wants. “We can just mess around, if you want. I don’t care.”

For some reason, hearing those words doesn’t make Enjolras feel as sad as he thought he would. On the contrary, it’s like a match lights up and burns him with an intensity he only feels when he’s so angry he can barely talk. Because he is. Angry, that is. He’s _furious_.

“You don’t care,” he states calmly. Grantaire immediately picks on his mood and stands up, away from him. Of course. Of fucking course.

 _I bet he’s really good in bed, too, given how passionate he is_ echoes in his brain, the foggy memory of Grantaire looking closed and annoyed to be asked such a stupid question, because Enjolras is an _idiot_ who thought, who fucking _hoped_ things might be different, because it has been years, right? What a joke.

He’s so stupid.

“Enjolras, for fuck’s sake,” Grantaire runs a hand across his face, and oh, is _he_ upset? Wow. “I have no idea what’s gotten into you, what did I do now? I thought you were okay with this.”

“Why, because I was going along with it?” He sits up and starts looking for his shoes.

“I mean, I guess?” Enjolras finds his shoes and starts putting them on. “Oh, fuck you,” Grantaire says, Enjolras doesn’t want to look at him. “What is it? You know I can’t read your mind, right? Get off your fucking high horse.”

Enjolras laughs humorlessly. “I can’t believe you’re so upset because you’re not getting laid,” he looks at him then, which hurts, but he’s an idiot, and he’s angry, and he can’t think straight when he’s angry, especially at Grantaire. “I thought you didn’t care?”

“What the fuck are you on about?” Grantaire shouts. His eyes are shining, his hair is disheveled and his mouth is so red, and what the fuck is Enjolras doing? He wants to go back to the couch and forget he opened his stupid mouth. He wants to go back at kissing Grantaire, but fuck. It just makes this hurt more. “I’m sorry if I went too far, I don’t know…”

And that’s the thing, isn’t it? Grantaire doesn’t know. He has no idea that Enjolras is hurt because he’s fucking in love with him and Grantaire doesn’t reciprocate. Suddenly the fight goes out of him. This isn’t fair to Grantaire. Yes, it hurts that he only wants Enjolras for sex, but that’s not his fault.

“I think this was a mistake,” he says softly, looking for his things. He can feel Grantaire staring at him but he doesn’t want to look at him again. It hurts too much. “Let’s just forget it.”

He leaves the apartment before he can say another stupid thing.

• • •

Enjolras spends the weekend disconnected from the world. He doesn’t want to talk to anyone, he doesn’t even want to think about anyone. Of course, his brain has other plans.

His mind keeps replaying the events from the club and on Grantaire’s couch (and what happened after, as well), which is driving him insane. He hates himself for acting on his stupid feelings, for getting carried away and _then_ acting like a stupid kid when he was confronted with reality. He has _known_ Grantaire doesn’t feel the same for him. God, why did he kiss him? Why did he say yes when Grantaire invited him to his apartment? Why did he ruin it with his stupid need for more?

He could’ve just run with it. At least that way he would’ve known how it feels to have Grantaire all for himself. At least once.

But who is he kidding? He couldn’t handle just having him once and then not again. He’s not made for hookups, they’ve never worked for him. He’s too awkward for it – he thinks things through too much for his own good. He can’t be casual about anything. If he’s honest, he’s sure none of his attempts have worked out because he’s been pining for the same person for years, but it’s no use thinking about it now.

No, stopping it was for the best, even if it hurts. Even if now he’s losing his mind thinking about the way Grantaire’s lips felt on his own, the way his hands kept wandering his body so gently. Knowing how much he liked feeling pinned down by him, how good it felt to have him close, to drown in him. God. This is hell.

He tries to bury himself in his work, but it won’t do. He can’t stop thinking about it. His mind is torturing him with the way Grantaire had looked when Enjolras had lashed out at him: shirtless, his curls all over the place, his mouth still raw from all the kissing. Fuck.

And the fucking things he said. Enjolras has been running through the conversation so many times, mortified at the way he reacted. What was he thinking? He said all the wrong things and even got angry at _Grantaire_ about it, when Grantaire had done nothing wrong. If Enjolras thinks about the situation from Grantaire’s point of view he can see how irrational he must’ve looked – it makes total sense that Grantaire was so confused. Enjolras is so annoyed with himself, so angry at the whole thing, that he doesn’t know if he wants to run away forever or just talk to Grantaire and apologize.

But apologize _for what_? For freaking out about having sex with the man he’s wanted for years? That would require him to be upfront about his feelings, which he isn’t sure he’s ready for. He pretty much got confirmation that Grantaire doesn’t care about him that way. What would be the point of confessing? This whole feelings business is so annoying, so distracting. It’s been so long already! Why can’t he just move on?

 _How_ can he move on, now? How is he supposed to erase the sensations on his skin, the taste on his lips, the way it felt in his chest when he heard Grantaire laugh against his neck. Fuck.

He doesn’t know if he wants to reach out to Grantaire or not. Enjolras told him to forget about it, and Grantaire must’ve been so weirded out that he clearly will want to do it. Or at least Enjolras hopes so. Does he? He doesn’t know if that will only make things hurt more. If they meet again on Tuesday for their scheduled meeting and Grantaire is there, and he jokes like he always does and doesn’t make any comment about what happened at his house. Wouldn’t that be worse? But what if he wants to _talk_ to Enjolras about it? What then? Enjolras would have to come clean, he can’t just hide.

Or. Or maybe he could try to spin it, make it work in their favor. He could agree to have sex with Grantaire, try to reach an agreement of sorts. A friends with benefits kind of deal. Enjolras discards the idea as soon as it occurs to him. That would be even worse. Enjolras wouldn’t be able to watch him leave every time. And there would definitely be a small part of him that would hope for Grantaire to fall in love with him, which would crush him. No. That’s not an option.

The best course of action is to stay friends. For their sanity, and for their friends’. This was a mistake, like he told Grantaire. His feelings complicate everything, so he must take care of it and just suck it up. Yes, it hurts, but it already hurt, so this can’t be worse.

He hopes so, at least.

• • •

It’s definitely worse. Way worse.

Enjolras had received a few cryptic messages from his friends over the weekend, but was too busy wallowing in his misery to pay attention to them. Once he realized what they said, he wanted to die. Apparently, they were all under the impression that Grantaire and he were an item now, or so it seemed, which is just. Horrible. The worst thing that could happen right now.

He has heard nothing from Grantaire since the Incident (that’s what he’s calling it in his head now), which has him so nervous for the meeting that he doesn’t even know if he wants to attend. Which is ridiculous, since he organizes these things. He’s losing his mind.

It’s Tuesday now, and the meeting is scheduled to begin in forty minutes, which is the time Enjolras makes from his office to the café where they agreed to meet. It’s reminiscent of their old days, when they would always look for places that offered coffee to both study and organize plans of action.

He misses those days so bad. He misses being younger and making mistakes without fearing that he would lose something really valuable in the process. He misses not having responsibilities, misses getting drunk with his friends, misses the spirit that drove him forward back then. He used to have so much energy.

He’s been looking at his phone for the better part of his commute. He’s waiting for a sign for _something_ , anything to happen. He’s been refreshing their group chat waiting for Grantaire to confirm that he will attend, like he does every time they meet. He still hasn’t sent anything.

It’s probably not a big deal. He knows Grantaire tutors a few kids, so he could be running late from a lesson. It doesn’t mean he’s not going to make it.

A stupid text can’t have that much weight to it. He can’t be obsessing over this. Enjolras stows his phone in his pocket and focuses on staring out the bus window, trying to get out of his head for a while.

He reaches the café sooner than intended, which is great, since he definitely didn’t want to be staring at the door like a creep waiting for everyone to arrive. He greets the young girl at the counter, finds a table that will suit all of them, orders a latte, and waits.

His phone shows no new messages. Enjolras contemplates tearing his hair out. 

“Hi, Enjolras!” Bossuet says, sitting down next to him. Enjolras blinks; he hadn’t noticed his friend arrive. Joly is at the counter, ordering, probably, which unsettles Enjolras for some reason. He thought he had been paying attention to the door.

Bossuet is smirking at him, which can’t be good.

“So, you kept R to yourself all weekend, hm? How did it go?” He leans in and nudges Enjolras playfully in the shoulder. “Spill! He hasn’t talked to us! I really thought he would at least call us today, but you must’ve worn him down good, eh?” He laughs, unaware of how desperately Enjolras is wishing for the ground to swallow him whole.

What is he even supposed to say to that? It makes no sense. The fact that Grantaire didn’t tell Bossuet (and Joly, it seems) means he must have done what Enjolras asked him to do, right? He’s putting it behind him.

But why is everyone so insistent that whatever happened between them means that they’re together now? Why would Grantaire’s closest friends think that? It makes no sense.

Only, they’re not actually saying they’re a couple, are they? They just mean sleeping around, like they know Grantaire does.

Right?

“It wasn’t like that,” Enjolras mumbles, at a loss for words. Their group is too nosey for their own good. It’s not like he doesn’t want to share, it’s just that, well, this is his private thing. He thought he was doing a good job of hiding what he was feeling. It’s been years; surely if he’d been obvious about it, someone would’ve said something at some point. “We didn’t– nothing happened.”

“What?” Joly asks, who is just arriving at the table. He puts his drinks down and sits next to him. He looks at Bossuet, who seems confused. “What happened?”

“What do you mean? I just said nothing happened,” Enjolras grits through his teeth. He doesn’t want to have this conversation.

Joly looks like he’s about to say something when Combeferre walks in. Good, things can be redirected back to their intended course. Enjolras stares at him impatiently, wishing they could just concentrate on the meeting instead of his social life.

“Is everything okay?” Combeferre can’t sit down next to Enjolras since Enjolras is already flanked on either side by Joly and Bossuet, but he sits close enough that Enjolras feels mildly comforted.

The three of them look at him, waiting for his answer. Enjolras is suddenly annoyed. “Why wouldn’t it be? Can we focus on what we have to do? We don’t have a lot of time, and everyone else is late apparently.”

He can tell Joly and Bossuet still want to press him on the subject, but they thankfully don’t say anything else, drinking from their cups while they have some sort of conversation with their eyes. Combeferre is frowning, but says nothing as well, which should be a good thing, only Enjolras now feels shittier than before, with the four of them awkwardly silent at the table, staring at the door. Why does he keep fucking things up?

It seems like forever until Courfeyrac arrives, Feuilly in tow. Courfeyrac takes one look at him when he is near enough and seems to deflate a little. He sits down next to Combeferre and shares a look with him, and it’s then that Enjolras knows that he has to run after the meeting, because they will definitely corner him, which cannot happen. Not yet.

His eyes go back to the door but nobody else walks in. His phone is burning up in his pocket, but he fights the urge to check it.

“Did anyone say they were going to be late?” he asks, intending to lighten up the atmosphere since everyone is so quiet, but it comes off sharp and annoyed. Enjolras wants to cry.

“Jehan told me he would be,” Courfeyrac lists off with his fingers. “Bahorel told me Friday he wasn’t sure he could make it, but we knew that already.” Courfeyrac’s eyes feel like x-rays scanning through his soul. Enjolras tries not to fidget. “Cosette and Eponine are supposed to get here any time now. I don’t know anything about Marius.” He pauses, his eyes sharp. “Or Grantaire.”

Goddammit. Enjolras pretends to busy himself with his briefcase, rifling through some papers, just to avoid Courfeyrac’s gaze. Courfeyrac is the only one who can read Enjolras like the back of his hand, even more so than Combeferre. He’s the only one Enjolras fears must know his true feelings for Grantaire, but Courfeyrac’s never said anything. Then again, Courfeyrac knows him so well he probably figured out that Enjolras would never admit it, even if confronted. He doesn’t want to confront it now, or ever. Enjolras wishes for the umpteenth time that he could turn back the clock and stop himself from kissing Grantaire. This is so annoying.

Thankfully, Cosette walks in just then, all smiles, and Enjolras takes it as an opportunity to start the meeting. Just power through it.

• • •

His mood doesn’t improve for the rest of the week. Not only did Grantaire not attend the meeting, he has made no attempt to contact anyone. Or, well. He has made no attempt to contact _Enjolras_. He’s apparently still talking to everyone else, which shouldn’t bother Enjolras as much as it does.

Enjolras tells himself he’s reading too much into it – Grantaire doesn’t normally talk to him every day anyway. This is probably him giving Enjolras space after their stupid argument in Grantaire’s apartment. Enjolras can understand that, but that doesn’t make it hurt any less.

What was he expecting, anyway? For Grantaire to be all smiles and jokes again? Or to wake Enjolras up with a text saying ‘listen, i know why you’re upset. it’s okay, i actually have been in love with you for the past ten years too’? Neither of those things are plausible with the way he fucked up back on Friday. There’s no way they’re going to go back to the way things were, and there is definitely no way in hell Grantaire feels the same way.

Enjolras is sure that he would definitely know if Grantaire felt anything for him. He would. There’s no way he could miss it. It’s just that Grantaire doesn’t seem to be the type to fall in love with anyone. Not the painful, desperate way that Enjolras is, at least. Grantaire gets infatuated with people, sleeps with them, and then moves on. That’s what he’s done for as long as Enjolras has known him.

Sure, he has to admit Grantaire is at least attracted to him, but, well. That’s not enough. Enjolras can’t put himself through that. He can’t be another notch in Grantaire’s bedpost, just a drop in an ocean’s worth of experience and adventure and fun and things that Enjolras just doesn’t _do_ , goddammit.

A small part of him knows Grantaire isn’t stupid: he wouldn’t risk their friendship just for a good fuck, would he? But then again, he was drunk, and he always does stupid shit when he’s drunk. He only actively flirts with Enjolras when he’s drunk. Maybe he’s been holding back on his attraction because he _knows_ they shouldn’t do it. He can’t just walk out of Enjolras’ life. They are too close to each other; their friends are too close to each of them. It would be a disaster. Enjolras can’t be the only one seeing that.

Then again, he’s been driving himself nuts with the thinking and the pain and the yearning. He’s stuck between fighting the part of him that’s telling him to just fucking do it, fuck the consequences, he’s been dying to touch Grantaire for years and he _had permission to_ , for once, and it felt _good_ , what the fuck is he _doing_ , and the part of him that’s desperately trying to not lose Grantaire as a friend. The one that’s telling him that it’s been years already, and neither of them had ever made a move, so maybe it wouldn’t be wise to do it now. Maybe the fact they _haven’t_ done anything is enough proof to understand it’s just not meant to be. Regardless of how much that hurts.

He looks at his phone. He succeeded in avoiding Combeferre and Courfeyrac for most of the week, but he knows he can’t hide forever. He’s been pretending to be busy with work and to be tired for the most part, which is bullshit and he knows it’s not working as intended. He knows Courfeyrac can smell the lies from miles away, but he says nothing. Thinking about Courfeyrac knowing but not pushing Enjolras about it is enough to send him into another spiral, so Enjolras tries to put it out of his mind.

There’s a text he hasn’t replied to, which he doesn’t want to acknowledge because he’s actually annoyed with his friends right now. They have apparently decided to go out again tonight, try out a new place Bahorel found that’s really close to Enjolras’ apartment. He can’t help but feel a little irritated with the fact that they can agree to go out for drinks faster than they can agree on a time for a meeting, and then he chastises himself for being so upset. Despite the fact that he's miserable, Enjolras can't hold it against them if they want to relax and have fun.

He’s pretty sure he’s not going, though, regardless of the distance to his place. It would be a disaster, especially if he starts drinking.

Which is when Grantaire replies that he is going.

Obviously.

Enjolras stares at the screen and fights the urge to scream. He is _not_ going. No. Doesn’t matter that Grantaire will be there. He should be avoiding Grantaire right back! For fuck’s sake, going would make things awkward and their friends wouldn’t even know why. Grantaire probably said he’s going because he knows Enjolras won’t go. Because Enjolras won’t.

This place really is walking distance from his apartment, though…

Fuck.

• • •

The place in question is definitely smaller than the club they went to last week. The first thing Enjolras notices is the heat, which is unbearable for the jacket he’s wearing. He takes the jacket off, but it doesn’t help much. There’s also too much noise, or maybe it feels like that because of the way people are crammed together. He doesn’t see what makes this place better than the other one, really.

He looks around and finds Bahorel moving his arms in an exaggerated way to catch his attention, which is not that necessary considering the man’s size and the place’s distribution. The dance floor is basically a few steps away from their table, which bothers him – he’s really not looking forward to being so close to people dancing. He makes his way to the table and sees that almost everyone is here already. His eyes find Grantaire immediately, already on his way to oblivion. He didn’t bring his flask today: he’s drinking straight from the bottle. Enjolras’ stomach twists unpleasantly. Had he snuck it in past the bouncer?

“You ever wonder what it’s like to see the face of a god?” Grantaire mumbles, staring at his bottle. It’s nowhere near full - he must have snuck it in with him, he can’t possibly have drunk that much already, he’d be unconscious. “Semele was destroyed for it, but she must’ve felt something just before she was consumed, don’t you think?” He raises his head and looks at Enjolras. His eyes freeze him on the spot. They look so blue. “They say Zeus didn’t want to do it, but he did it anyway.” He drinks from the bottle and then smiles sadly. “I don’t think Semele could have regretted it, though. She saw what no other mortal could. That must be worth the destruction.”

Enjolras feels disoriented. Grantaire is back to drinking, unaware of the multiple stares going back and forth between them. Enjolras is still standing up, not sure what to do. Everyone is quiet, but the bustle around them makes up for the silence.

He feels like he should be saying something, only he has no idea what. He thought Grantaire was barely starting to drink, but if he’s already talking about Zeus, there must be something wrong. He hates that he doesn’t know enough about mythology to understand any of the references Grantaire makes, but he’s not that stupid. That was clearly a dig at him, only he doesn’t know what it means.

Courfeyrac puts his hand on Grantaire’s shoulder softly and whispers something to him, to which Grantaire grimaces and shakes his head. Enjolras is still standing up like an idiot, and is about to ask what the hell is going on when Courfeyrac pretty much drags Grantaire out of his chair and pulls him towards the dance floor.

“Trust me, this will help,” Enjolras hears Courfeyrac tell Grantaire as he drags him away. He knows his face is doing something because everyone is staring at him in different states of curiosity when he finally sits down.

He doesn’t want to talk to them, though. There’s something in the back of his head urging him to talk to Grantaire. There’s something wrong, that much is obvious. He needs to understand.

“Are you okay?” he hears Feuilly ask, but he doesn’t know the answer. Combeferre isn’t there yet, which is both frustrating and relieving, since Combeferre would be able to tell him what the reference was, but he doesn’t know if he wants to know that before talking to Grantaire. He’s confused, and hurt, and now he can see Courfeyrac and Grantaire dancing, and why hasn’t Courfeyrac talked to him about this? It’s obvious he knows. He’s helped everyone get their shit together at some point – hell, he’s helped Enjolras get it together about many things. What is he waiting for? What is going on?

His eyes follow Grantaire’s movements on the dance floor, like a moth to a flame. At first he can tell Grantaire’s heart isn’t in it, but as the music picks up, he seems to shake himself and start getting into it. The music here isn’t as electronic as it was in the other club. It sounds more like the kind of music people play when they want to grind their bodies against someone else.

At first he’s not alarmed at Courfeyrac and Grantaire pretty much grinding against each other, since he knows Courfeyrac’s hopelessly in love with Combeferre. Plus, if Enjolras is correct and Courfeyrac is aware of his feelings, there’s not a chance in hell Courfeyrac would be doing this to Enjolras. To be honest, Enjolras isn’t even looking at Courfeyrac. His eyes are glued to the way Grantaire grinds his hips and presses his body to someone else’s. Grantaire throws his head back and leans into another person, letting them run their hands through his body. Enjolras’ mouth is dry. He imagines his own hands exploring Grantaire’s chest that way, grabbing him by the hips and pressing him close. Enjolras can still remember the way Grantaire felt around him, the press of his body pinning him down, the taste of his tongue on Enjolras’ mouth, the feel of his erection rubbing against his stomach.

Enjolras is transfixed. He needs to feel that again, he needs to go all the way. Grantaire is dancing with more people now–it seems like Enjolras isn’t the only one who noticed his moves. Grantaire closes his eyes, just moving to the beat of the music and letting himself go while the greedy people snake around him, touching him and pressing against him and, and–

His nails are digging themselves in his palm. He can feel his friends’ concern but his eyes are glued to the dance floor. Enjolras can’t stop looking at the hands roaming Grantaire’s arms, his chest, sneaking around Grantaire’s waist. Enjolras can’t breathe. Grantaire lets himself be pushed around, grabbing anyone close to him and thrusting against them. Enjolras is so jealous he can’t move.

Surely this must be proof enough that whatever happened between them didn’t matter as much to Grantaire as it did to Enjolras, right? Isn’t it? Or is it unfair of him to think that? Grantaire is only dancing, after all.

That doesn’t really matter, anyway. Enjolras doesn’t like what he’s feeling, this raw desperate ache building up as Grantaire wraps his arms around a girl who is pressing her ass against him. A guy slides up behind him and holds both of them, hiding his face in Grantaire’s neck.

Enjolras wants to throw up. Grantaire seems to be enjoying himself, which is more than he can say for himself. There’s a part of him that wants to run, only he doesn’t know if he wants to run towards them and push everyone away from Grantaire or just run back home. This was a bad idea. Why did he come? This is torture.

Grantaire’s face turns around, moving one hand up the guy’s head and pressing him close. It looks like he will kiss him, and that’s enough. Enjolras looks away. His hands are shaking, his chest hurts too much. So, that’s clear then. He feels so stupid, so incredibly stupid. He stares at the edge of the table, where someone doodled what looks like a tree, and it’s so out of place with everything that’s going on that he laughs. He then thinks of Grantaire sitting on a bench in a park, doodling a tree, and fights the urge to cry.

He doesn’t want to have a breakdown in front of his friends, who are still unusually silent. He can’t leave now, either. The moment he leaves he knows everyone will have more questions than he wants to deal with. He feels trapped, desperately longing to be anywhere but here, without the images of Grantaire moving his hips and running his hands through someone else. Knowing he could’ve been that person on the dance floor with him – that he _was_ that person, only a week ago – makes this hurt even more. 

His eyes scan the table in search of anything to distract himself with. He looks at the bottle of whisky on the table – the one that Grantaire was drinking from – and without thinking too much about it he takes a big sip. It burns on its way down, far too much too fast, and he regrets it immediately. He can feel everyone’s eyes on him, but he doesn’t care. He just wants to be doing something other than feeling like this.

Obviously, his eyes betray him again, searching for Grantaire through the mass of bodies dancing together. He keeps taking sips (far, far smaller sips now) every time he thinks of something that annoys him, which is pretty much everything right now. The bass in the music thumping against his skin is annoying, so he drinks. The lights are an ugly neon color, so he drinks. Grantaire is dancing with a new set of people, running his hands through a new dude’s hair, so he drinks. 

He can’t stop staring at Grantaire now, and he knows he’s being obvious, but he doesn’t care anymore. The trickle of whiskey runs hot through his throat and burns his stomach, and it’s a different kind of burn to the one that’s consuming all his insides. Is this what Grantaire was talking about earlier? About being consumed when looking at a god? He doesn’t remember the words he used exactly, but it must be a painful thing, because his heart is bleeding and his head is swimming with the way Grantaire’s eyes look when he laughs, or when he’s deep in conversation – how he must look when he’s teaching his students, how he must look in the mornings, how he must feel – soft and pliant under Enjolras’ hands.

Enjolras looks at the way Grantaire dances, and imagines how good it must feel to be in bed with him – he thinks about rolling his hips against Grantaire’s groin, about going down on his knees to take Grantaire in his mouth. He wants to see that look again, the open way he was staring at Enjolras when they were kissing. He’s sick of watching Grantaire touch other people, _Enjolras_ was touching _him_ a week ago, he’s been waiting to touch him for almost ten years now, it’s _his_ turn, fuck everyone else. 

He takes another tiny, punishing sip, sharp like a needle behind his eyes. Okay, so Grantaire doesn’t love him, so what? Grantaire was still very into fucking him. Enjolras knows he can beat all of those stupid idiots to get Grantaire’s attention. He could walk right in front of Grantaire and all those people plastering against him and Grantaire would go to him. He would. He knows Grantaire would. Enjolras’ half tempted to just fucking do it, show them all that he can do it, when Grantaire comes back to the table. He’s soaking wet, his face is flushed and his eyes are shining. Suddenly Enjolras can’t breathe. The pain that bursts through his chest takes him by surprise, but he does his best to ignore it. He hands Grantaire the bottle, almost empty now.

“Having fun?” he says, only it comes out a little too loud. Maybe he’s a bit drunk. Doesn’t matter.

Grantaire looks at him oddly, taking the bottle with no comment. He looks meaningfully at their friends, who seem to collectively decide that they all would much prefer to be on the dance floor right now, shooting the two of them curious – and concerned – glances as they go. Enjolras ignores them. He wants Grantaire to answer.

“Are you drunk?” Grantaire asks instead, which– that– that’s completely irrelevant right now. Grantaire looks at the bottle and swirls it a little, as if to check how much liquid is in it. He takes a slow, appreciative swig and stares at Enjolras. His eyes are so damn blue. “You drank this straight? How are you feeling?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Enjolras says, reaching out to take the bottle from him. He’s not answering Enjolras’ question.

“Sorry?” Grantaire frowns, and oh. Right. He’d said that out loud.

“You didn’t answer.” He might as well say it again. He sounds childish to his own ears, but who the fuck cares anymore. “Did you have fun dancing?”

He knows he must be pouting, but he doesn’t know why it’s suddenly very important for him to know this. He saw Grantaire having fun, he saw him rub himself all over who knows how many people, and he’s looking better now than he was when Enjolras arrived, so. He’s clearly having fun. He definitely doesn’t need Enjolras for that.

Instead of answering, though, Grantaire takes the bottle from him and drinks the remains in a long, slow pull that shows off his tattooed neck. Enjolras’ pouts deepens. He looks around the table and takes a bottle of vodka that Jehan used to mix cocktails for the rest of the table. It’s nearly empty. No one will mind if he takes it now.

He drinks less than a shot’s worth from the bottle and grimaces, the taste so strong it takes him a moment to wince through it. He can feel Grantaire’s eyes on him as he takes another drink to polish off a full shot, so he offers him the bottle.

Grantaire looks at him and then at the bottle. He seems to consider what is going on, but takes the bottle anyway and drinks. Enjolras follows his throat with his eyes as he swallows.

They take turns drinking from the bottle until there’s nothing left. Grantaire opens his mouth as if to speak, but Enjolras doesn’t want to talk – he’s sure whatever Grantaire could say will hurt him, so he turns to the table, taking advantage that their friends are gone. They start polishing off their friends’ abandoned cocktails, sharing each one back and forth by some unspoken agreement. Enjolras enjoys the way the alcohol burns him from the inside, enjoys the way Grantaire’s eyes roam over his face and stare at his mouth when he drinks. He enjoys the way Grantaire’s lips look wrapped around a maraschino cherry, the way his tongue looks chasing the salt on the rim of a glass. His lips are so _red_ now.

Enjolras moves closer and waits for his turn to drink from a tall glass that was once Bahorel’s. Their fingers brush when he takes it from Grantaire, who doesn’t remove his fingers. Enjolras doesn’t want him to.

It would be so easy to lean down and kiss him. Grantaire’s lips look so inviting, so plump and red and wanting. The worries that have been driving him insane all week seem so stupid now. Grantaire is here, looking at him like he’s everything, and that’s all Enjolras’ ever wanted, so why deny it? Why hold back? It doesn’t matter if it’s only one night. He can do it. He can show Grantaire how passionate he can be, how good he can be. He wants to.

“Hey, R.” He laughs at the way his voice sounds. Has he always sounded that funny? “Walk me home.”

“Hm?” Grantaire is leaning down towards him. Enjolras can smell his shampoo, or maybe he’s hallucinating it. He smells something sweet in the air.

“My apartment.” Enjolras tries really hard to make his words make sense. He’s not that drunk, anyway. He’s just relaxed, so it makes sense his tongue is relaxed as well. He tries it a little slower. “My apartment is really close. Walk me home.”

“Oh. Alright.” Grantaire stands up, swaying a little, but he has practice, so it doesn’t look as bad as when Enjolras stands up. Only a couple of their friends have made it back from the dance floor – Enjolras can’t see Courfeyrac, but he sees Combeferre’s coat slumped nearby, so he assumes they’re together. He grabs Grantaire’s shoulder to regain his footing as they make their excuses to the few friends sitting close, who – unlike last week, when they were excited to see them leave – are frowning a little. It’s fine, they don’t know that this is fine. Enjolras will probably have to come clean to Courfeyrac and Combeferre, but it’s going to be fine. He knows what he’s doing.

The cold air hits his face as he leaves the club. It helps to sober him enough to get his bearings and start walking in the direction of his apartment, Grantaire following close behind. Enjolras waits until Grantaire’s caught up with him and grabs his hand to bring him closer to him. Grantaire starts, which makes Enjolras stop in his tracks.

“Something wrong?” Maybe hand holding wasn’t the best idea. Enjolras lets go of his hand. Grantaire widens his eyes and shakes his head, fumbling with his hand until he tangles their fingers together. Enjolras smiles and walks again.

He’s always loved Grantaire’s hands. Grantaire used to bite his nails back in university, but he stopped doing it when he started working as a tutor. He had said he wanted to set a good example for the kids, and while some of their friends didn’t get why nails would have such an impact, Enjolras understood. It wasn’t about the nails, it was about the habit.

Grantaire’s fingers are stubby and feel rough against Enjolras’ skin, but his palm is surprisingly soft. Enjolras relishes the way their fingers slot into place, the slight pressure binding them together. He wants to sit down and explore the lines with his fingers, with his tongue. He wants to kiss Grantaire’s knuckles and press Grantaire’s palm against his cheek. He wants to feel Grantaire’s hands running down his body. He needs to feel that again.

The walk to his apartment goes by faster than he’d hoped. Now that he’s at the gate, he sobers up a little out of nerves, not knowing how to approach this. Grantaire looks up at him through his lashes, the dim light of the street falling over his face, making him look like a dream. Enjolras must be dreaming.

He doesn’t want to question it anymore. He’s tired of fighting with himself, tired of denying himself what he wants, tired of suffering for things he can’t control. Grantaire wants him, fuck everything else. It’s been too long already.

He leans down and brushes his lips against Grantaire’s. For a second there’s no response – Enjolras’ heart stutters in his chest – but then Grantaire lets go of his hand and gets both hands on Enjolras’ hair, pulling him closer, and _oh_ , he was wrong. He had no idea how much he missed the way Grantaire kisses, the way it’s like Grantaire’s consuming him whole. Enjolras grabs him by the lapel of his coat and pulls at him desperately, needing to feel him closer than before. His nerves begin and end in every point of contact between them – his lips are too sensitive, too raw. He can taste the alcohol on Grantaire’s mouth, and it’s like he’s being intoxicated again. Grantaire’s lips are soft and plump and Enjolras is starving. He bites his lower lip and Grantaire groans, pushing Enjolras against the gate. 

Enjolras doesn’t want to stop, ever, but he also doesn’t want to be standing up anymore. He wants to have Grantaire laid down before him, he needs to be over him, under him, next to him. He needs Grantaire on his bed, now.

He breaks away from Grantaire to turn around and try to open the gate, but he’s fumbling with the keys and can’t remember the order to open the stupid thing. Grantaire doesn’t help, pressing himself against Enjolras’ back, kissing his neck and running his hands over his chest. Enjolras can’t breathe. He needs to open this thing _now_. Grantaire’s hands travel lower and Enjolras can’t help the whine that comes out of his lips. Focus, he has to focus. Open the stupid door.

They both stumble inside once Enjolras manages to unlock the gate. He makes a half-assed attempt to lock it again while Grantaire calls for the elevator. He can’t handle not touching Grantaire, not having his hands on his body. They get in the elevator in a tangle of limbs, Grantaire pushing him against the wall again, putting his knee in between his legs, and fuck, Enjolras is so hard right now it’s insane. He drags Grantaire out of the elevator and into the apartment in a smoother fashion than before, and they waste no time, pulling at their clothes as they make their way to Enjolras’ bedroom.

Grantaire kisses his neck while Enjolras fumbles with his shirt. He hates having to separate from Grantaire long enough to take off his clothes. Enjolras walks Grantaire towards the bed, yanking his shirt off and throwing it on the floor. Grantaire plops down on the bed and stares up at him, and god, he has that intense look again. Enjolras follows him down onto the bed and sits in his lap, kissing him with the intensity of all the years he’s been waiting. There is no chance he will ever get over how it feels to finally have Grantaire in his arms, the softness of his mouth, the way Grantaire’s hands clutch at his waist and then run around his back, like he’s exploring Enjolras’ skin.

Enjolras rolls his hips and Grantaire groans again, biting his lower lip and holding Enjolras close. His hands sink to Enjolras’ ass and draw it down towards him. Enjolras moans, the pressure on his jeans against his erection is killing him, and feeling Grantaire through his trousers is driving him insane. Grantaire grinds up against him and bites his neck. Enjolras sinks his fingers into Grantaire’s hair and holds him there. Grantaire keeps on biting and kissing, sinking his teeth in and then running his tongue over the spot. There will be marks, Enjolras is sure, but he doesn’t care. He wants them there, he wants to see them and know Grantaire made them.

He needs to feel him closer – there are still clothes in the way. He lets go of Grantaire to unbuckle his jeans, fighting to get them off. Grantaire holds Enjolras by the hips and flips him around to lay him down on the bed, pulling his jeans off him. Grantaire then pins him down and kisses him soundly. Enjolras melts against the bed. Fuck, this feels so good. It’s been so long. Enjolras reaches down and presses his hand against Grantaire’s erection, palming him through the fabric. Grantaire gasps, a punched out sound that has Enjolras reeling. Hearing him make noises is intoxicating, and knowing Enjolras is the reason for them is incredibly satisfying.

Enjolras tries to get Grantaire out of his trousers but it’s difficult with the angle and having him on top. Grantaire seems to understand what he wants, though, and together they make quick work of the task. Once that’s done, Enjolras beckons him closer, opening his legs. He should get rid of his briefs too. He’s about to do it when Grantaire puts a hand on his chest, as if to stop him. He looks suddenly very serious.

“Is this okay?” he asks. Enjolras is disoriented for a second – why wouldn’t it be? But Grantaire looks a little worried. “I mean, are you okay with this? Last week–”

“It’s fine,” Enjolras says quickly. He really doesn’t want to ruin it this time. “Don’t worry, it’s okay.” He smiles a little, trying to reassure him. “We’re just messing around, right? It’s not a big deal.” Enjolras can do it, he can be the cool passionate one-night stand. It’s fine.

He can do it.

Grantaire pauses for a second, but Enjolras doesn’t want to wait anymore. He takes off his briefs, exposing himself bare at Grantaire, who seems at a loss for words. He’s staring at him open mouthed, which makes Enjolras feel a little self-conscious. He pushes past the embarrassment and gets his hands back on Grantaire, dragging him down into a kiss. Grantaire goes along, kissing him softly.

“Okay,” he mumbles after breaking apart. Enjolras frowns, but Grantaire is already taking off his boxers. Enjolras loses his train of thought.

Grantaire is kissing him again, and Enjolras cooperates, melting against the mattress as Grantaire kisses his way down Enjolras’ neck, then his chest. He brushes his lips against one of Enjolras’ nipples, the touch feather-light. Enjolras gasps. He throws his head back as Grantaire keeps kissing every inch of his chest, down to his navel.

The press of Grantaire’s lips against his skin is driving him insane. Enjolras can’t help but push his hips up, desperate for friction, but Grantaire is having none of it – he’s dragging his teeth down below, nibbling at the sensitive skin just above Enjolras’ very aching erection. He knows he’s leaking already, and god, this is agonizing. Grantaire kisses his thighs, and fuck, Enjolras is trembling with the anticipation and the want and for fuck’s sake, what is Grantaire _waiting for_ –

“Look at me,” he hears Grantaire say. His voice sounds rough, which turns Enjolras on even more. He loves Grantaire’s voice. “Enjolras,” he repeats, his voice low. Enjolras looks down at him, at his blue eyes and his mouth so close to Enjolras’s cock. Enjolras whines. “Just look at me.”

There is no possibility of Enjolras looking away. He’s transfixed, staring deep into Grantaire’s eyes as Grantaire takes Enjolras in hand and strokes him. Enjolras moans – the contact is too much and not enough, the grip is just right, and yet he wants more. He wants to throw his head back again and rut against Grantaire’s palm, but he can’t stop staring at Grantaire’s eyes as Grantaire slowly works him. He’s going to drive Enjolras mad.

Grantaire’s eyes darken as he picks up the pace. As if sensing Enjolras’ desperation, he places a hand on Enjolras’ thigh and holds him in place. Enjolras bites his lip to contain his whines, but he can’t – Grantaire’s head is sinking lower, his breath ghosting against Enjolras’ cock. Fuck.

“Grantaire,” he hears himself moan. He sounds so desperate. “Grantaire, please–”

The hand on his thigh grips him tighter, Grantaire’s eyes are so dark they’re almost black. He holds the base of Enjolras’ cock and lowers all the way, taking Enjolras in his mouth. Enjolras shouts, fighting the urge to close his eyes. The sensation is overwhelming, the heat around him making him see stars. Grantaire hasn’t even _moved_ and Enjolras is already losing it.

He sinks his fingers into Grantaire’s curls, trying to ground himself, as Grantaire starts bobbing up and down, his eyes still on Enjolras. His mouth is so warm, so soft… Enjolras groans, his pleasure building. Grantaire licks the underside of his cock, flicking his tongue at the head. Fuck, how is he so good at this? He coaxes Enjolras’ legs open and holds them in place, sinking down again. Grantaire looks so good wrapped around Enjolras’ cock, the muscles in his arms straining from the pressure of holding Enjolras down.

Enjolras can’t help the little whimpers that escape his lips. He finds himself grabbing and letting go of Grantaire’s curls, fighting against the need to push him down in a faster rhythm and letting him set his own pace. Grantaire’s mouth makes a loud _pop_ as he lets go of Enjolras’ cock. His eyes are dancing as he goes lower, licking his balls. Enjolras can’t help it anymore – he throws his head back and groans. He won’t last. This is already too much.

Grantaire huffs against his skin, biting his inner thigh softly as if to reprimand him. “Enjolras,” his voice is so low and husky it sends shivers down Enjolras’ spine. “Don’t look away.”

Enjolras whines, letting go of Grantaire’s hair to push himself up on his elbows. He’s so desperate to come it’s insane, but he doesn’t want to yet. It’s too soon. His eyes find Grantaire’s and he feels such a sudden burst of love for the man before him that he can’t breathe. Grantaire looks like a dream, his hair disheveled, his lips swollen, staring up at Enjolras with an intensity that feels like a punch to the gut. Enjolras wishes he could stay in this moment forever.

Grantaire seems satisfied with what he sees. He goes back down and licks a stripe from Enjolras’ balls up to his head, swirling his tongue at the slit. Enjolras is going to lose his mind. He moans, his eyes glued to Grantaire as he sucks on his balls and lets go of his legs, opening them wider. Enjolras’ heart hammers against his chest, his legs tremble. Grantaire goes down lower, circling his tongue around his rim. Enjolras clutches at the blanket, breathing hard.

The first lick against his hole feels experimental, as if Grantaire is testing the waters. Enjolras doubts he’s the first person Grantaire’s ever done this to, but he doesn’t have much time to think about it as Grantaire presses the flat of his tongue against his entrance, dragging it up slowly. Enjolras gasps, his arousal making his head spin. Grantaire sucks on the rim, flicks his tongue and once Enjolras is whining he finally, _finally_ pushes the tip of his tongue inside. Enjolras cries out, Grantaire’s sliding his tongue in and out, driving him insane with how slow he’s going.

“More,” Enjolras begs, unable to stop himself. He’s so close but not quite there yet. His cock aches too much, leaking all over. He just wants to feel Grantaire inside him already.

“Lube,” Grantaire mumbles. Fuck. Enjolras thinks he still has some in the bedside drawer. He tries to reach it without moving away too much, which is complicated when Grantaire is sprawled all over him. Enjolras doesn’t want to waste time, he’s losing his mind. It takes a herculean effort to find it, but he smiles triumphantly when he does, giving it over.

Grantaire smiles back at him, tugging something inside Enjolras’ chest. Grantaire coats his fingers and kisses his entrance softly, then gently slides a finger inside. He’s not looking at Enjolras anymore, but Enjolras can’t look away now, obsessed with the way Grantaire looks at his finger going in and out of Enjolras’ ass. He adds another finger, making Enjolras convulse with a groan. He pushes down against Grantaire’s hand, urging him to go deeper. Grantaire kisses the side of his rim as he works him open, faster now.

“I want you,” Enjolras pants. “Please, R. I need you inside me.” He doesn’t care about how needy he sounds, he can’t wait anymore.

Grantaire lets out a groan of his own, now. He crooks his fingers inside Enjolras, and fuck, Enjolras really will beg, he’s ready to do so when Grantaire takes his fingers out, straightening up. Enjolras is mad with desire, so achingly hard he will actually die if he doesn’t get his hands on Grantaire now. Grantaire seems mad with lust too, coming up and kissing him desperately. Enjolras pulls at Grantaire's shoulder until Grantaire lets himself be repositioned, switching them around so that Enjolras is sitting on his lap, rubbing his ass against Grantaire’s cock. Grantaire moans against his lips, and fuck, that’s so hot. Enjolras grabs at his hair as Grantaire hugs him close, and this is great but Enjolras wants more.

“Wait,” Grantaire says suddenly. Enjolras’ heart stops. “I’m pretty sure I’ve got condoms in my pocket,” he says. Shit, the condoms. Enjolras is so desperate he’s about to tell him that he doesn’t care, he will take him bare, but he refrains. He can’t be that stupid.

He hates having to separate again, but finds Grantaire’s trousers easily, getting the condom out and jumping back into the bed. He wastes no time opening the package, so frantic his hands are shaking a little. He grabs Grantaire’s dick and rolls the condom down. The action shouldn’t be erotic but somehow it is, making Enjolras dizzy with arousal. He grabs the bottle of lube and spreads it over Grantaire’ cock. Grantaire groans, pulling him closer and kissing him roughly.

Enjolras can’t stand it anymore. He braces himself and sinks down on Grantaire’s cock slowly, crying out at the sensation. Grantaire gasps, grabbing at Enjolras’ hips to hold him steady. Enjolras waits until he’s used to the feeling and sinks down lower, until he’s sitting on Grantaire’s cock. Grantaire’s fingers dig into his skin, but it’s not uncomfortable. Enjolras feels so full, and it feels so good, Grantaire feels so good inside him. He’s perfect, so perfect.

He rolls his hips experimentally, making Grantaire grunt and dig his fingers in deeper. Enjolras grabs Grantaire’s hair and pulls him towards him, kissing him deeply. Grantaire melts against him, but he’s still not moving. Enjolras rolls his hips again, firmer this time, and Grantaire seems to take the hint, moving his hands up his back and pressing Enjolras closer to him.

“Ride me,” Grantaire says between kisses. Fuck, Enjolras is suddenly blind with desire, deepening the kiss as he rolls his hips against Grantaire’s. He grabs Grantaire by the shoulders and throws his head back, going up and down onto Grantaire’s cock. Grantaire whimpers, kissing Enjolras’ neck as he holds him by the waist.

Enjolras pushes Grantaire into the bed, and oh, this angle feels so much better. He rocks his hips up and down, taking Grantaire in and out, and fuck, it feels so good, Grantaire is filling him up so good. Grantaire starts hitching his hips up and _oh_ , he hits the spot that makes Enjolras’ body sing. He moans loudly now, Grantaire grabbing his ass and pulling it down as he rocks up into him.

“Fuck, Enjolras, you feel so fucking good,” he stammers. “You’re so fucking perfect, fuck.” He pulls Enjolras tight against him and rolls them over, pinning him into the mattress. Enjolras _keens_.

Grantaire fucks him relentlessly, getting out and pushing all the way in, hitting that spot every single time. Enjolras is babbling now, making no coherent sentences, the pleasure so intense it’s overwhelming.

“Look at me,” Grantaire demands. Enjolras opens his eyes – he wasn’t even aware they had closed – and gasps. Grantaire looks feral, completely drenched in sweat, eyes as dark as the night and his hair sticking out in all directions. Enjolras loves him. The vision is so intense he feels the pleasure wash over him. He cries out, coming all over his stomach.

Grantaire growls, hiding his face in Enjolras’ neck and fucking him in earnest. He makes little keening noises against his skin. Enjolras pets his hair and holds him close.

“Come on, R,” he whispers against his hair. Grantaire’s thrusts are erratic. “Come for me.” Enjolras kisses the side of his head.

Grantaire bites Enjolras’ neck – hard – and moans. He comes, panting against Enjolras’ skin. Enjolras is dazed, the pleasure buzzing in his body. Grantaire is still hiding in Enjolras neck, trembling slightly. Enjolras hugs him close, so happy he can barely contain it. That was perfect.

Grantaire kisses his neck softly, making his way to Enjolras’ mouth with tiny little kisses. Enjolras smiles, kissing Grantaire gently on the lips. The kiss is slow and sweet, so tender that Enjolras finds himself aching for more. Grantaire gives him one last kiss on the forehead before he pulls out slowly, standing up and walking towards the bathroom. Enjolras feels so happy he could explode. He closes his eyes and sighs. Grantaire is back in a few moments, cleaning him softly with a warm towel. Enjolras opens his eyes, touched and pleased, and smiles at him. Grantaire smiles weakly and walks away.

When he comes back, he starts picking up his clothes, not looking at Enjolras. Enjolras frowns, confused. Grantaire starts putting on his clothes, his back to him, and dread starts building up in the pit of Enjolras’ stomach. He suddenly remembers. Right. This was just a hookup, it wasn’t anything more than that.

His good spirits wither away.

Enjolras is cold, and he suddenly feels really empty. His chest feels hollow. He watches as Grantaire stands up, completely dressed, avoiding Enjolras’ eyes.

“I’ll see you around,” Grantaire mumbles, his voice so small in comparison to how it sounded just a few minutes ago.

Enjolras is too stunned to talk, but Grantaire doesn’t notice, as he’s already closing the door behind him.

• • •

Enjolras wakes up the next morning feeling like shit. His head is killing him, he can barely keep his eyes open and he feels so physically weak it’s ridiculous. He burrows under the covers, groaning as his head throbs. He’s going to die, there’s no way this is natural.

He then remembers the night before. He groans again.

God, that was the most stupid thing he could’ve done. What was he thinking?

Well, that’s the thing, isn’t it? He clearly wasn’t thinking.

Fuck, he feels so stupid. He _knew_ this was a bad idea, why the fuck did he go through with it? Now everything is going to be so messy, so fucking complicated because of his stupid feelings. He knows Grantaire only wanted sex, has always known that was the only thing he would get if he ever actually did anything about this, and _fuck_ , of course the fucking sex had to be amazing. Of course Grantaire is wonderful in bed, and of course now Enjolras will never be able to live this down. There is no way he will ever find anyone else that will make him feel the way Grantaire does, and that’s just so fucking unfair Enjolras wants to cry.

He’s so angry with himself. Why the fuck did he drink so much? Why the fuck did he go to the fucking club in the first place? He didn’t _want_ to go, he never wants to go! But of course, his stupid fucking need to see Grantaire makes him be there every fucking time, like a stupid child mooning over a toy in a shop window, no matter how unobtainable. Which is what he thought Grantaire was – what he _is_ , the fact he slept with Grantaire doesn’t mean he’s still very much not attainable.

Fuck, he slept with Grantaire. Fuck.

What the hell is going to happen now? Are they going to go back to normal? Is Grantaire still going to mock-flirt with him, or will he actually flirt with him for real? Does that make a difference? Will they have sex again?

That last thought makes him pause. He doesn’t know if he would be willing to do it again. Fuck, of course he wants to do it again, but he _can’t_. He can’t get used to this, to feel Grantaire inside him, to get swept off his feet by his lips, and his tongue, and his hands–

God, his head is killing him. This is hell.

His chest is hurting too much. Thinking about the way Grantaire just walked out of his bedroom like nothing happened is a horrible blow. He turns around in the bed, curling himself into the fetal position and feeling sorry for himself. The worst part is that now that he knows what it feels like to be in Grantaire’s arms, the only thing he wants in this moment is for R to be there with him, holding him close.

God, he’s such an idiot. That’s never going to happen. Not the way Enjolras wants to, anyway. Grantaire would probably hold him close if they slept together again, but Enjolras can’t fucking _do_ that. No. He’s already hurting so much after sleeping with him once, if he does this again it would be devastating. Enjolras thinks about seeing Grantaire leave his bedroom every time after he gives himself over to him, and the pain that image brings him is horrifying.

His head feels like it’s being pierced open and he feels his eyes water, which he attributes to the hangover and not the gaping hole in his chest. As much as he wants to keep wallowing in his misery, he really can’t stand the pain in his head. He makes an effort to straighten up in the bed, which is a terrible idea, because now everything is swimming around him, the nausea so sudden he’s sure he’s going to throw up. He doesn’t, which isn’t precisely better, but at least he can’t feel shitty about that.

He does his best to stand up and drag himself to the bathroom, where he splashes some water on his face. He looks at his reflection in the mirror and gasps. He looks like shit, which isn’t surprising. His hair a mess, the bags under his eyes puffy and red. His lips look swollen, too, but he can’t stop staring at his neck. He’s covered with hickeys, but there’s one that’s bigger than the rest, stark red against his skin. Enjolras thinks back to Grantaire biting him as he came – he can still feel Grantaire’s weight over him, the erratic way he thrust inside him. Enjolras chokes on air, his hand moving towards the mark. He brushes his fingers against it and closes his eyes.

He’s so fucked.

• • •

Enjolras spends the rest of the weekend wallowing in his misery, which feels ridiculous in comparison to his previous weekend, where he _thought_ he was miserable. He thought merely kissing Grantaire was torture enough, but he had no idea. He can’t stop thinking about everything that happened, from the first kiss in the dance floor a week ago to the way Grantaire looked on top of him.

He’s been fighting against the urge to reach out to Grantaire in any way, firstly because it’s just a really stupid idea in principle, but also because he doesn’t want to seem too needy. He knows this was just fooling around for Grantaire, so there’s no reason to reach out unless he’s looking for sex. He really would love to be the person Grantaire expected, someone that was in it for the fun of it and would be willing to do it again, no strings attached, but he’s not.

He’s the person that wants to wake up next to Grantaire in the mornings and kiss him awake. He wants to banter with him and then shut him up with a kiss. He wants to sit with him on a bench in a park, watch him doodle people’s ridiculous faces and then help him pick which one to give to any of their friends. He wants to hold his hand again, feel the warmth and the pressure of Grantaire’s palm pressed against his. He wants the sex to mean more than just messing around.

Enjolras feels like an idiot, yearning for something he won’t get. It’s been years, and he has tried, really _tried_ to move on. It’s always been so inconvenient. It’s not like Enjolras wants to stay alone for the rest of his life, but he never really put thought into settling down with anyone. It just wasn’t something that worried him – his aspirations have always been more important in the long run. So his infatuation with Grantaire had been a nuisance at first, like a fly buzzing around. It bothered him, but it was something that he could ignore for a while.

The trouble is that trying to evade the problem doesn’t make it go away. By the time Enjolras realized the feelings that came over him every time he interacted with Grantaire were stronger than normal, he was already doomed.

He still tried to move on, though. Tried to look at it from an analytical perspective: they’re friends, their friends are friends, plus it wasn’t worth pursuing since Grantaire wasn’t interested in anything more than sex, as he had clearly said before. The issue was that Enjolras didn’t really have the patience to meet people for something that wasn’t related to his objectives, and he found it hard to stop thinking about Grantaire when he saw him nearly as frequently as he saw Combeferre and Courfeyrac.

Still, he pushed through. He valued the small truce he had reached with Grantaire too much, and he didn’t want to fuck up things for everyone, so he pushed against his reservations and tried to sleep around, which had been a disaster, just as it is now. He never thought he would be the type unable to treat sex as something casual, a sport to have fun with others. He knows his feelings for Grantaire influenced the way he went about it too, but still. It was so frustrating. There was no way to win.

Nothing had ever felt like what he had with Grantaire, obviously. Nothing can compare to it now, and that angers him the most. Now there is definitely no way he can get over him. It’s so unfair – why did the sex have to be so good? Why can’t the two of them be on the same page? Either Enjolras willing to fuck around, or Grantaire willing to stay with him only. Enjolras hates this. Grantaire has never dated anyone, and he won’t do it now. 

There’s no meeting scheduled this week and he’s caught up with work, so Enjolras has nothing to distract him from his woes. He’s half tempted to reach out to his friends, see if they can do something, but he still feels too raw, the pain too visible to pretend to be fine. He’s not sure if Grantaire would come along if they organized something, but the thought that he could has Enjolras on edge. He definitely doesn’t want Grantaire to see him in this state.

And that’s the thing, isn’t it? What Enjolras didn’t want to go through: having to avoid his friends because of Grantaire. Well, because of his feelings for Grantaire. A small part of him tells him he could come clean, talk to them about what’s going on, but he doesn’t want to pit them against Grantaire. Or make this more complicated than necessary.

He wonders where Grantaire is now, if he’s thinking about him, about what happened. They were really drunk too, which Enjolras didn’t even consider an issue at the time. He recalls the way he kept moaning and how desperate he was, and hopes that he was as good to Grantaire as Grantaire was to him. Enjolras doubts he was the best bed partner Grantaire has ever had, but he still wishes fervently that Grantaire remembers sex with Enjolras as a good time. Grantaire’s probably not even thinking about it as obsessively as Enjolras is, anyway. 

• • •

Grantaire hasn’t made any attempt to contact him at all, and while a week ago Enjolras could tell himself the silence was because of his outburst, now he doesn’t know what to think. It’s probably nothing – Grantaire has a life outside their circle of friends, after all. Enjolras doesn’t want to dwell too much on it, but he can’t help himself. Their group chat has been a little quiet, which happens sometimes, but Enjolras is antsy, waiting for someone to say something.

He opens the little group chat he has with Combeferre and Courfeyrac and stares at the screen, like he’s done in the past few days, more often than he likes to admit. He really wants to see them, at least talk to them, if anything to calm his nerves. Courfeyrac always knows what to say when he’s stuck in a rut, and Combeferre is such a direct person that he would straighten him out in a second. They don’t need to know about what happened with Grantaire, but Enjolras thinks it’s unfair to keep it to himself.

He’s not sure if he’s ready, though. He’s been avoiding pretty much everyone since the weekend, so to appear out of nowhere and pour out his heart to them, expecting to be coddled, seems like too much to ask. He knows he’s only making it worse by not reaching out, but he doesn’t know how to be casual about it. Saying he’s been busy with work seems like a stupid excuse, more so since he normally engages with everyone even if he’s saddled with obligations.

The days blend together and leave him feeling a combination of restlessness and despondency. Every time Jehan asks in the group how everyone’s doing, Enjolras waits to see if Grantaire will answer, but he never does. Enjolras lies and says he’s fine each time, doing his best to hide the growing desperation at not knowing anything about what’s going on with Grantaire. He knows the simplest thing would be to call or text him, just to know that he’s okay, but he doesn’t know if that’s too presumptuous. He doubts Grantaire is in actual peril, and as much as the events that went down between them affected Enjolras greatly, he’s pretty sure it wasn’t a big deal to Grantaire. The most likely thing is that he’s just busy, which happens.

It’s finals season, anyway. He must be tutoring a lot of kids. It’s not unreasonable to think that he’s too tired to engage with any of his friends right now, especially Enjolras. The fact they slept together shouldn’t change that, as much as Enjolras would like it to.

It’s been a week since it happened, which should be enough time for Enjolras to get himself back together, but it isn’t. Of course it isn’t. He spends the entire day dreading another get-together with their friends, since he doesn’t want to go to a bar or a club or anywhere near alcohol right now. He doesn’t even know if Grantaire would go if they organize something, and he doesn’t know what _he_ would do if Grantaire actually shows up. Enjolras misses him so much it’s insane; the silence driving him nuts.

Luckily, it seems like everyone is tired of clubs at this point. Courfeyrac sends a text in the evening asking everyone’s plans for the next day, saying something about having lunch together. Enjolras’ initial reaction is to decline, but he misses his friends very much. He’s aware of what a terrible friend he’s been the past two weeks and wants to make amends. He just doesn’t know how to go about it.

He knows he has to see them, at least. That’s a good place to start.

Grantaire still doesn’t reply, but Enjolras tries not to think about it. He can’t keep torturing himself with the possibilities. Either Grantaire goes or he doesn’t, which shouldn’t be a big deal. Enjolras knows he has to face Grantaire at some point. Sure, it’s going to hurt like hell, but this _already_ hurts like hell – what else can he do?

He confirms his attendance, hating that he’s still waiting for Grantaire to say something. Enjolras throws his phone on his bed, drags his hands over his face and groans. It doesn’t matter what happens with Grantaire tomorrow: he needs to get it together. He owes his friends that much.

• • •

They agree to meet at a café near downtown, a small place Enjolras has been to with Courfeyrac and Combeferre before. Enjolras is nervous as he opens the door, but he tells himself there’s no need to be. He’s here for his friends.

He spots them easily enough: they moved two tables together so everyone could fit. They all smile at him, but somehow that feels wrong – Enjolras feels so guilty about acting so weird towards them. He doesn’t realize how nervous he is until he’s reached the table, his hands sweating a little. He doubts they’ll demand an explanation, but his heart still stutters when he meets Courfeyrac’s gaze. Courfeyrac seems to be scanning him all over – Enjolras is momentarily relieved that he found an old turtleneck to wear, most of the hickeys gone by now save for the big one. Still, he’s not prone to wearing turtlenecks on any given day, which Courfeyrac knows, so it’s no surprise to see something click in Courfeyrac’s eyes. Fine. He’ll deal with that later.

Grantaire isn’t here yet. Enjolras can’t help the disappointment blooming in his chest, but he’s also relieved that Grantaire’s not there to see him looking so out of sorts. He doesn’t even know how he would’ve reacted if Grantaire was there when Enjolras walked in, if his face would’ve given him away, or if he would’ve said something stupid. At least he has time to settle down in case Grantaire decides to show up.

He can still feel Courfeyrac’s eyes on him, so he sits down on Courfeyrac's left, which puts him on Joly's right. Enjolras wishes with all his might that they won’t start interrogating him now, before they order, before Grantaire is even here. Not that having Grantaire here would be better, anyway. God, he just has to stay calm. Things will be fine.

“How are you?” Courfeyrac asks. Enjolras looks at him, and the guilt he’s been feeling threatens to spill over. The thing is, Courfeyrac knows him too well, but it’s not one sided. Enjolras also knows Courfeyrac better than most, knows when he’s pretending to be fine for everyone else’s sake, when he’s too tired to put up with anyone but still pushes through. Enjolras knows all the masks Courfeyrac wears to sail smoothly through life. But Enjolras knows perfectly well when Courfeyrac is hurt, and seeing it right now is like a punch to the gut.

The one thing that Courfeyrac prizes above everything else is trust, and Enjolras knows that by keeping him in the dark the past couple of days, he pretty much told him he doesn’t trust him enough to share this with him.

Enjolras wants to explain, though. He hates seeing Courfeyrac hurt, has always hated it, but to know that it’s his fault this time is messing him up more than he thought. He’s been so selfish.

“Busy,” Enjolras says, knowing full well that Joly (and pretty much everyone else) is paying close attention to what he says. He’s about to lie and say something stupid about his work, make up something about a really hard case, but he pauses. He can’t lie to them. He owes them the truth.

The idea of talking about what has happened between him and Grantaire out in the open feels wrong, though. Enjolras feels like it might be a bad idea to pour out his heart in a public place, especially since he doesn’t know if Grantaire will join them soon. The problem is that lying feels wrong, too. He doesn’t know what to do. This is so ridiculous. 

“I’m sorry I haven’t been in touch,” he says softly. He looks at everyone around the table, and isn’t surprised to find them all paying attention to him. Only Eponine and Grantaire are missing – even Musichetta is here, when she rarely has time to see them due to being in the hospital so much. Enjolras swallows against the lump in his throat and carries on. “It wasn’t my intention to ignore any of you. I just needed some time alone.” He looks at Courfeyrac. “I know I could have just told you I needed time, but I was being an idiot. I’m really sorry.”

“No need to apologize, man,” Bahorel smiles at him. “Are you okay now? Do you need anything?”

He needs Grantaire to love him back, which is a really stupid thing. Enjolras is a little thrown that everyone seems to be okay with his half-assed apology. He expected some kind of confrontation, at least someone voicing the discomfort that his attitude must have caused everyone. He knows they must’ve been worried for him, but they’re just letting him get away with it, and he loves them, he really does, but he was an asshole. He looks at Courfeyrac again, and sees he’s not fully forgiven. Enjolras thinks it’s funny that he feels relieved by this.

Courfeyrac’s still not telling him off for it, though. Enjolras supposes he’s weighing the odds, seeing if it’s worth having a scene in the middle of a cozy place when they’re all supposed to be at peace, just hanging out. And it’s then that Enjolras realizes he’s expecting a confrontation because Grantaire _would_ call him out for being an asshole. Enjolras is so taken aback at the revelation that he forgets to answer the question. Instead he wonders about how many little things he’s gotten used to about Grantaire. He’s both amazed and horrified to find himself so utterly reliant in their relationship, even if it’s not what Enjolras wants it to be.

The reality of his situation hits him harder. He finally understands what he would be giving up if he can’t keep it together. Enjolras definitely wants to keep Grantaire around, but knowing now what it feels like to have him close, to feel his arms around him, to know the taste of his lips, the way he can make Enjolras’ body sing, he feels utterly crushed. There’s no way he can have his cake and eat it too, which fucking sucks.

“Enjolras?” Jehan is frowning at him. “Is there something we can do?”

“No,” he replies, forcing himself to smile. “I’ve got it.”

He has no choice.

The waiter comes just then, and Enjolras appreciates the chance to hide behind the menu, even though he’s been here enough times that he already has a regular order. He’s grateful that the distraction helped move things along with their friends, who are now chatting about their week. Enjolras tries to pay attention, but the pain in his chest is opening up again, the sadness threatening to consume him.

He can’t help but look at the door every few minutes, hoping he can see Grantaire. Enjolras is past caring about what will happen when he arrives – if he even does. Enjolras just wants to see him.

Their food arrives, and so do Grantaire and Eponine, who seem to be coming together. Enjolras’ heart races. He can’t help but straighten up a little in his chair and search for Grantaire’s eyes, but Grantaire isn’t looking at him. He seems to be very interested in the floor, actually, which is odd. Eponine whispers something in his ear and he rolls his eyes, letting her drag him towards the group. Enjolras frowns.

“Sorry we’re late,” Eponine says once they make it to the table. Grantaire runs a hand through his hair, his eyes still on the floor. He lets Eponine tow him over to where Cosette sits, frowning slightly at them. Eponine kisses her and sits Grantaire down at her side. “R was helping me move my furniture around.” If anything, Cosette seems more puzzled by that, shooting an inquisitive look at Grantaire, but he’s still avoiding everyone’s gaze.

“It doesn’t matter. We’re here now,” Grantaire mumbles. He seems to shake himself and looks up, his gaze sweeping over everyone. He doesn’t linger on Enjolras. “Did we miss something?”

“Enjolras was apologizing for ignoring us this week,” Jehan says. There’s something in his tone that Enjolras can’t quite place. “But I was actually wondering – where have _you_ been this week? I thought we agreed you would at least let us know you’re okay if you’re busy.”

Grantaire winces slightly and sighs. “Yeah, about that.” His eyes flash to Eponine, who is staring at the menu, and then back to Jehan. “I started working on a commission, actually. It came out of nowhere and the pay was good, so I went with it. But the week was hell, I had a lot of moms calling me last minute because their brats were going to fail their exams.” He laughs faintly. “There’s only so much I can do, anyway. I’m sorry if I worried you,” he adds in a soft voice, tapping his fingers on the table. “I had a lot of things in my mind.”

He glances at Enjolras, but quickly looks away. Enjolras has to tamp down the sliver of hope that threatens to take him over. Grantaire literally said he had had a lot of _work_ to get through; of course that’s what he meant when he said that he had a lot of things on his mind, not that he was thinking about Enjolras. God. He needs to get it together.

Enjolras knows he’s staring like a creep, but he can’t help it. Jehan is still a little upset that Grantaire didn’t reach out at all this week, which Enjolras is secretly pleased about, since at least someone else can interrogate him about it. Grantaire doesn’t seem to be too keen on discussing what he did during the week, though, trying to push the conversation in any other direction.

“So,” says a voice by his ear. Enjolras jumps, startled. Courfeyrac is staring at him. Everyone else seems to be busy with their own conversation, not paying any attention to Courfeyrac’s soft comment. “Are you really okay?”

Enjolras looks back at Grantaire, who is now joking about something with Jehan and Cosette. Eponine is frowning at the table. He wishes Grantaire would look at him again, tell him something. He feels weirdly left out, even though Grantaire has hardly done anything to make him feel that way.

He’s clearly overthinking it. Grantaire hasn’t talked to everyone in the table, and what is he expecting? For Grantaire to wink at him or something? Acknowledge that he fucked his brains out last week? Make fun of him? Fight him about something? It’s not like Enjolras has said anything either.

“I’m… not sure,” he answers, turning his gaze back to Courfeyrac. “A lot has happened.”

“So it seems,” Courfeyrac says, looking over at Grantaire. Enjolras’ heart races, desperate to change the topic. He doesn’t want to have a heart to heart with Courfeyrac right now. Not yet.

“How was your week?” he asks. He can hear the shakiness in his voice, but fuck it. Courfeyrac huffs, aware of his sloppy attempt to change the topic, but goes along with it.

“Same as always,” Courfeyrac says, leaning down on his chair. “Combeferre found a bookstore near our apartment the other day, so he’s been going over there the past couple of days to browse their selection.” His smile softens, which makes Enjolras’ chest hurt.

“Hey, Courfeyrac,” Bahorel calls from across the table. “Did you ever hear back from that girl we met on the train? I was hoping she would reach out.”

Courfeyrac’s entire demeanor changes, turning to Bahorel and delving deep into something work related. Enjolras is secretly grateful for the distraction. He looks at Grantaire again, now smiling softly at Cosette. The pain in Enjolras’ chest deepens. He would give anything to have Grantaire smile at him that way.

Enjolras can feel everyone’s good spirits – it’s been a while since they’ve all been together like this – which makes him feel like the odd man out. He’s dying for Grantaire to tell him something, anything, if only just to let Enjolras know they’re still on good terms.

There’s no reason why they wouldn’t be, right? From Grantaire’s perspective, they had a one-night stand, but that’s no reason for them to stop being friends.

Right?

In all the years Enjolras has known him, Grantaire has always stayed on friendly terms with the people he fucks. Enjolras has never seen him disregard anyone. Hell, he’d even brought some of his conquests to their meetings – which had hurt a lot when it happened, and still does a bit to this day.

Maybe it’s because they’re friends? Perhaps Grantaire is worried their dynamic will change? But it doesn’t have to. Enjolras is sure he’s thinking way too hard about this. Just because Grantaire hasn’t spoken to him yet doesn’t necessarily mean he’s avoiding Enjolras on purpose.

There’s still something wrong, though. Enjolras can feel it. Sure, they’re not best friends, but Grantaire always has something to say to him. The fact there’s nothing now must mean something.

Enjolras thinks about saying something to break the ice. He’s growing restless, trying to pay attention to what his friends are talking about to ground himself. This is horrible. Grantaire hasn’t looked back in his direction even once since he arrived. Enjolras looks to his side, where Joly is talking with Bossuet and Musichetta. Alright, so Grantaire isn’t talking to his closest friends either, and the world isn’t ending. Maybe he just wants to talk to someone else. It shouldn’t have to mean anything.

Still, a small part of him is clamoring to talk to Grantaire about where the two of them stand now. Just... clear things up. That’s not unreasonable, right? Especially with their situation. They’re friends, they got drunk and slept together. Surely it’s not weird that Enjolras would want to talk about it.

But then again, maybe talking about it would add weight to what happened. Grantaire probably isn’t breaking his head over it. Grantaire must’ve had a lot of drunken hookups; he probably has a protocol for these kind of situations, probably takes it for granted they’ll be on speaking terms afterwards. That’s not necessarily good, either – making a habit of drunken hookups, that is. Enjolras knows the two of them were both consenting very enthusiastically, but they were still very drunk.

He hates that he’s so worried about it. His eyes find Grantaire without meaning to: he’s no longer speaking with anyone, his eyes glued to the table. It seems like he’s trying to blend into the background. He looks up and his eyes find Enjolras’, but, upon finding Enjolras staring back, he quickly looks away.

Enjolras fights the impulse to stand up and– and what? Demand an explanation? This is hardly the right place for that. Grantaire _does_ stand up, though, but he’s putting some bills on the table.

“I have to get going,” he says to the table. Everyone looks up. Enjolras frowns. Okay, he’s not an idiot. This is not normal behavior. He himself is standing up before he realizes what he’s doing, and Grantaire’s eyes widen. He gives Enjolras a weird look, like he’s worried. Enjolras can feel everyone’s stares on him.

“Let me walk you out,” he says. Grantaire’s eyes widen even more, but he frowns quickly, as if trying to hide his surprise.

“Why?” Grantaire smiles, but it looks forced. “The door is like, right there.” He waves to the side.

And he’s right, isn’t he? _Why_ would Enjolras walk him to the door? What kind of stupid request was that, anyway?

Enjolras feels his cheeks warm up. Fuck. His only goal for this outing was to avoid making a fool of himself, and of course that’s the thing he ends up doing. Grantaire is saying goodbye to everyone, apparently trusting Enjolras won’t follow, even though Enjolras’ still standing up like an idiot.

He’s on the verge of losing his temper; he can feel it. Surely there was no need to shoot him down like that in front of everyone. It’s not like walking a few steps is a big deal. He shakes himself – that’s not fair. Why would Enjolras walk Grantaire to the door? Grantaire never does that. Hell, Enjolras has never done that. With anyone.

Grantaire looks at him briefly before leaving, his expression unreadable. Enjolras sits back down without fanfare. He suddenly feels sick. Well, he’s done it now. Things will definitely be awkward. What is wrong with him? Why couldn’t he just be fucking casual about it? God.

He really wants to cover his face with his hands and possibly die. He’s so embarrassed and hurt that he doesn’t know what to do with himself. Enjolras knows he’s being stared at, which is worse. He really wants to be home.

“Everything okay?” Combeferre asks. Enjolras looks at him and swallows.

“It’s not what it looks like,” he says, which is not really what he wanted to say. He doesn’t even know what the hell it _does_ look like. Like he’s a fucking regency character, maybe. “I don’t know what I was thinking. It’s nothing.”

“Okay, that’s enough.” Courfeyrac stands up and offers him his hand. “Come with me, I want to walk.”

Enjolras sighs. So much for putting this conversation off.

• • •

The streets surrounding the café are quiet at this time of day, the sun filtering through the buildings. Courfeyrac links their arms together as they walk, the picture of nonchalance, but Enjolras knows him enough to know that he’s trying to ease him into whatever it is that he wants to discuss. He’s pretty sure he knows what Courfeyrac wants to know, but he doesn’t know how he’s supposed to talk about this – it’s not like Enjolras even _knows_ what’s happening in its entirety.

“Remember when we were seven? I had my first crush that year. Well, the first official one,” he smiles, playful. “Renée. You were always so upset that I didn’t want to hang out with you when she appeared.”

Enjolras frowns. This was not what he was expecting. He does remember what Courfeyrac’s talking about, but he’s pretty sure he was mostly annoyed because Renée was really boring, not because she took Courfeyrac’s attention from him. He never understood what Courfeyrac saw in her. “What about it?” His voice sounds cutting to his own ears.

“I just found it funny. I remember I used to think you would get it once you fell in love with someone, but that never actually happened. You never fell for anyone.”

They get to the main square, where some people are talking and laughing. Courfeyrac steers them towards a bench and they sit. His eyes follow everyone walking by.

“I normally let you make your own decisions, mostly because I’m not your parent and I have no control over you,” he says with a bit of a laugh in his voice, turning to face Enjolras. “But I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something for a while. I think I made a mistake.” He frowns, looking apologetic. “I knew I should’ve talked to you first, but I figured you knew what you were doing.”

“What are you talking about?” Enjolras asks, his heart in his throat. This conversation is not going the way he had thought it would at all. He doesn’t like what Courfeyrac said either. It doesn’t make sense. “What happened?”

“Well, I want to apologize first.” Courfeyrac looks at him seriously, his tone matter-of-fact. “I’ve been a bad friend to you. I’ve known you for a long time, and sometimes I take things for granted.” He takes Enjolras’ hand in his and squeezes softly, which is something Courfeyrac normally does to calm him down. “Like I said before, I’ve never seen you been in love. I just didn’t know what that looked like.”

Enjolras looks away, unsure about what to say. He thinks he knows where this is going, now. He swallows past the lump in his throat. He feels tears prick at the corners of his eyes, but he doesn’t want to cry. Courfeyrac brushes a strand of hair off Enjolras’ face.

“I have to admit I realized pretty late,” he says, chuckling. Enjolras turns to him and Courfeyrac smiles sadly. “I thought you would want to talk to me about it, but you never did. Then you started seeing those guys, which confused me at first, but then I thought you might be moving on. You didn’t talk to me about that, either.”

He squeezes Enjolras’ hand again. “I’m not blaming you, though. You clearly didn’t want my help there, which is maybe why I thought you had it under control. That was my first mistake.” He looks at the people walking by again. “I know you think Grantaire was always making fun of you at the meetings. I used to think that too.”

“He was,” Enjolras says, his voice hoarse. “He still does.”

Courfeyrac snorts, then turns to him. “Do you really think that?”

Enjolras opens his mouth, but doesn’t say anything. He used to think that way, but Grantaire hasn’t really made fun of him in years. The mock flirting is an exception, but still. Even that has lessened lately. Courfeyrac smiles kindly at him.

“The thing is, it’s been a few years and neither of you have done anything about it,” Courfeyrac says. “The funny thing is that everyone thought you weren’t interested,” he says with a little self-deprecating snort, looking away again. “I figured you didn’t want to get distracted, or something.”

“What?” Enjolras croaks, too afraid to move. He feels lightheaded. “Distracted?”

“I don’t know, I couldn’t think of anything else.” He shrugs. “I assumed you had your reasons.”

Enjolras stares at the ground, lost. He shakes his head. “It’s not like that.” This makes no sense. Grantaire was always flirting, yes, but how could anyone believe it was serious? It’s never been serious!

“Which takes me to my other point,” Courfeyrac says, unaware of the turmoil inside Enjolras’ head. “Some of us have noticed this dance between you two, and while we figured you could solve it on your own, others thought we could help you.” Enjolras looks up. Courfeyrac grimaces. “I thought it wouldn’t hurt, which is why I agreed, but I think we might’ve made things worse.”

“That’s why you were insisting on the dancing,” Enjolras says under his breath, remembering how everyone was so fixated on him joining Grantaire and Joly on the dance floor all those nights ago. Of course. Enjolras feels so dumb.

“Everyone was really happy when you kissed. We thought it worked, and then neither of you said anything the entire weekend, so we thought you spent the entire time together.” Courfeyrac shakes his head. “Then you closed off and Grantaire was a mess, so we had no idea what went wrong.” He sighs and squeezes Enjolras’ hand yet again. “And then somehow it got worse. You were obviously ignoring us and Grantaire was MIA. I’m so angry at myself for letting you two go when you were so clearly drunk. I know I wasn’t there when you left, but I saw you two when you were alone at the table.” Courfeyrac stares deeply into Enjolras’ eyes. “I’m really sorry.”

Enjolras grabs Courfeyrac’s hand and squeezes back, at a loss for words. He’s pretty sure he’s going to cry, but he hates that Courfeyrac blames himself for what’s happened. He has it all wrong.

“You’ve got it all wrong,” he tells Courfeyrac, because he needs to know that. “Thank you for telling me,” he adds quickly, “but it’s not like that.” He doesn’t even know where to begin with this. “Grantaire– we–” He takes a deep breath. “We want different things. He doesn’t feel the same way I do.”

Courfeyrac is frowning at him. “You love him, right?”

It’s such a simple question. Enjolras breaks down.

“Yes.” He looks at the ground again, letting out a ragged breath. He covers his eyes with one hand – the other one still in Courfeyrac’s grip. He hates this entire situation. Courfeyrac pulls Enjolras to him and hugs him, holding him tight.

“Then you’re gonna have to explain what happened. Why do you think Grantaire feels different?”

The question is so absurd it snaps Enjolras out of his meltdown. He looks up at Courfeyrac, who is still frowning at him.

Then Enjolras realizes. Courfeyrac doesn’t know about the time Grantaire said Enjolras would be a good fuck. He never told anyone he overheard Grantaire say that.

With that in mind, Enjolras can see how it could look like Grantaire was genuinely into him from an outside perspective. Still, their friends know Grantaire, they know he’s always joking around, why would they think all the teasing and the flirting was serious? Grantaire sleeps around all the time; why would they think he was serious about Enjolras?

He has to clear this up, though. Enjolras takes a deep breath, trying to keep it together, and tells Courfeyrac about that time in that bar all those years ago. Courfeyrac’s frown deepens as Enjolras keeps talking, and is silent for a while when he’s done.

“I’ve always known he’s not serious about it,” Enjolras blurts when he can’t stand the silence anymore. “That’s why I never tried anything. I– he’s only interested in sex. Which is okay, but it’s not what I want.” His voice cracks, and he looks up at the sky. There are barely any clouds. It’s such a sunny day. He’s momentarily offended that the weather isn’t aligning with his mood.

Courfeyrac is still silent, but then he sighs. Enjolras can see out of the corner of his eye that Courfeyrac is looking at him. “You slept with him, didn’t you?” It doesn’t sound accusatory or like a reprimand, it’s more of the same direct, factual tone he’s been using all along.

Enjolras closes his eyes and nods, a single tear running down his cheek. He brushes it aside quickly, but Courfeyrac pulls him back into a hug, pressing Enjolras head against his neck. He kisses the top of his head and Enjolras gives in, letting the tears fall. “I’m such an idiot.” He tries to laugh, only it breaks into a sob. He buries his face in Courfeyrac’s neck, letting him rub circles in his back. Courfeyrac kisses the top of his head again.

“You’re not,” Courfeyrac says softly. “It’s okay. I’m so sorry we pushed you together like that. I should’ve talked to you before.”

“It’s not your fault.” Enjolras breaks away from Courfeyrac to stare him down. Yes, their plan was stupid, but ultimately Enjolras was the one who made the choice to go along with it. “You didn’t know.”

Courfeyrac shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter.” Another hand squeeze. “Don’t take this the wrong way,” he says. Enjolras frowns. “But are you sure it was just sex for him, really?”

God, not this again. Enjolras literally _just explained_ –

“Hey,” Courfeyrac says, as if reading his mind. “I’m just saying. It’s been, what? Ten years from that conversation? You didn’t even like him back then.” He smiles gently at him. “Would it really be so crazy to think that he might have developed feelings for you too?”

Enjolras shakes his head fiercely. He can’t allow himself to hope. That’s the worst thing he can do to himself, especially now.

“He hasn’t,” he says. “This was just messing around for him.”

“How can you be so sure?” Courfeyrac presses. “Did he spell it out for you?”

Enjolras frowns again. Well, he didn’t use those specific words, but the meaning was clear. That first night when Grantaire said he didn’t care should be proof enough.

But that’s not all he said, right? He said it could be anything Enjolras wanted.

“Oh, God.” The realization hits him like a ton of bricks. “No. There’s no way.”

There is literally no way. Grantaire doesn’t love him. He doesn’t. He’s never loved him.

Enjolras closes his eyes. He’s so tired of fighting against hope. He’s tired of telling himself over and over again that he doesn’t have a chance, that he shouldn’t even try. He’s tired of being afraid.

He allows himself the chance to hope for once. He thinks about Grantaire falling in love with him gradually, just like Enjolras did. Maybe Grantaire found himself at a dead end when he realized all the flirting would never be taken seriously. Maybe all those people he slept with were also attempts to move on.

It’s too good to be true. Enjolras pushes past the insistence in his head that there’s no way this is real and lets his heart take the lead for a change.

He tries to see what things looked like from Grantaire’s perspective, these last two weeks. The abrupt way Enjolras left his apartment, the silence afterwards. And then getting drunk with him, dragging Grantaire to his apartment and sleeping with him. He’s horrified with himself. Enjolras was so blinded by his own pain that he didn’t even think about what his actions must have looked like from the outside.

It’s not surprising Grantaire didn’t reach out to him at all after they slept together. Enjolras looks up at Courfeyrac, who is staring at him patiently.

Of course, this could still be wishful thinking.

“You have to talk to him,” Courfeyrac says, point-blank. “You both need to be on the same page.”

Enjolras knows this. Of course he does. It’s just that the fear he feels when he thinks about talking to Grantaire is threatening to swallow him alive. He’s so sick of this situation, though. Courfeyrac is right. It’s been years since Grantaire said those things about him, and they’re both different people now. Enjolras loves the man Grantaire is now, and he has to face the fact that this won’t go away.

He knows he’s not actually going to be okay until he talks about it, too. He can’t stay in this weird limbo where Grantaire is there but out of reach. Grantaire is his friend. No matter what, he deserves to know the truth.

Enjolras nods. He doesn’t think it’s going to be easy, but when has anything ever been? 

• • •

Enjolras is determined to get this sorted out as soon as possible. His resolve finds him at Grantaire’s apartment complex, staring at the apartment buzzer. He’s been here for a good fifteen minutes, trying to come up with a good opening line. He doesn’t even know if Grantaire is home, but with the way he talked about the week he had, Enjolras figures he ought to be. He feels a little bad for demanding Grantaire’s attention in case Grantaire is actually resting, but he doesn’t want to make excuses to run away again either.

He thinks he’d lose his mind if he sent Grantaire a text, mostly because he fears Grantaire will leave him on read if he does. He’s half afraid Grantaire won’t let him in if he rings the buzzer, but Enjolras doubts that would actually happen. He’s still pondering how to go about it when a girl opens the door from the inside, bumping into him. He apologizes and holds the door open for her, walking inside once she leaves.

His heart is racing as he makes his way to the elevator. He’s not sure popping up unannounced at Grantaire’s door is a better idea, but at least it’s better than an ignored text. This way he can at least see him.

The adrenaline kicks in once he’s in Grantaire’s floor, his feet taking him to Grantaire’s door without conscious input from his brain. He thinks he’s going to stand there like an idiot if he doesn’t do something, so he knocks on the door on impulse. Shit. He has no plans, he’s pretty sure he still looks rattled from his conversation with Courfeyrac, and his heart is racing like mad.

He can hear footsteps from the other side of the door, which makes Enjolras’ stomach drop. Before he’s ready, Grantaire opens the door, frowning. He’s no longer wearing the flannel shirt he took to their lunch; instead, his shirt is now threadbare and black, exposing the tattoos on his arms. Grantaire’s eyes widen when he sees who it is.

“Can I come in?” Enjolras asks, holding onto his momentum. Grantaire seems to hesitate for a second, but he opens the door all the way to let Enjolras in.

“Listen, before you start–” Grantaire says as he closes the door.

“I wanted to–” Enjolras says at the same time. They both pause and look at each other. Enjolras nods at Grantaire to continue. Grantaire sighs, holding onto a cloth Enjolras hadn’t realized he’d been carrying. He must’ve been painting.

“I’m sorry,” Grantaire says, which takes Enjolras aback. “I know you’re pissed at me, and you should be. We shouldn’t have– I shouldn’t have–”

“Wait, what are you talking about?” Enjolras asks, frowning. They’re still standing just a couple steps from the door. “I’m not mad at you.”

“You’re not?” Grantaire looks surprised. “I thought you’d be angry because I’ve been hiding. I was just really worried you might kill me,” he says. He laughs nervously. Enjolras is still lost. Grantaire sighs, his expression serious again. “We were really drunk.” He twists the cloth between his hands. Enjolras is tempted to take it away from him. “I basically took advantage of you.”

Enjolras rolls his eyes. “I agreed to it,” he says, knowing what Grantaire’s talking about now.

“Yes, but you were drunk,” Grantaire deflates, walking towards the couch. Seeing it brings Enjolras back to two weeks ago, when Grantaire had him pinned down against it, his lips searing through his skin. Grantaire catches him staring and smiles sadly. “You told me to forget about it. You said it was a mistake.”

“Grantaire, I brought you to my apartment,” Enjolras says. “I basically initiated everything. You didn’t take advantage of me.”

Grantaire shakes his head. He looks down to his hands, where he’s still gripping the cloth. “I still could’ve stopped it. I hold my drink better than you.” He looks up at Enjolras and runs his hand through his hair. Enjolras sits down next to him.

“You did ask me,” he reminds Grantaire, fighting the urge to hold his hand like he had with Courfeyrac. “Yes, we were drunk, but I wanted it.” His voice shakes as he says it. Enjolras wants to kick himself. He doesn’t know how to bring up what he really wants to talk about.

“So, you don’t regret it?” Grantaire asks softly. He’s really close. Enjolras could easily lean in and kiss him. Enjolras looks away, staring at the small table in front of him. He knows Grantaire is still looking at him, so he shakes his head slowly.

“No. I told you, I wanted to do it.” Enjolras gulps. His hands are sweating. A thought occurs to him, and he turns to Grantaire. “ _You_ don’t regret it, do you?”

Grantaire laughs softly, looking at the floor. “No, I don’t.” Grantaire raises his head and looks at him with that same intensity that always makes Enjolras’ insides churn. “If you didn’t come to have my head, then why _are_ you here?”

Enjolras bites his lip, which draws Grantaire’s gaze to his mouth. Enjolras’ heart thumps against his chest. He’s so tempted to lean in and drown in Grantaire again. He misses him so much. He hasn’t been able to stop thinking about the way Grantaire feels, and having him so close is making his head spin. Focus, he has to focus.

If he’s going to do this again, he needs to be upfront about the way he feels.

“Did you know our friends set us up?” he blurts out instead, mentally kicking himself. What is he doing?

“What?” Grantaire asks, confused.

“Apparently they thought we needed help,” he says with a weak laugh. He doesn’t know why he’s talking about this right now. Maybe he can steer it back in the right direction…?

“Why would they think that?” Grantaire asks instead, clearly annoyed. Enjolras’ heart stops. He doesn’t know how to take that. Grantaire crosses his arms, frowning. “Was it supposed to be a joke?”

Enjolras looks at the floor, his chest empty. A joke. Grantaire thinks the possibility of them being together is a joke. The disappointment hits him hard, harder than he thought, hurting him too much. He’s angry, mostly at himself. He _knew_ , he fucking knew he shouldn’t hope. He’s feels so fucking stupid. Why did he let himself hope? He’s known how Grantaire feels for years, he fucking _heard him_ say it outright.

Enjolras fights the urge to scream. It was too good to be true. Grantaire loving him back in secret all these years? It sounds ridiculous to his own ears. He’s so pathetic, running here to confess in the hopes that Grantaire would actually reciprocate. Because that’s what he’s been hoping for, isn’t it? What a joke.

“Enjolras?” Grantaire asks. Enjolras doesn’t want to look at him. It will hurt him more, he knows it.

“I didn’t get it, either,” he says, his voice empty. “You don’t seem to need any help hooking up with anyone.” He laughs, the sound flat to his own ears. “I think they thought you always meant all those things you said to me. They didn’t get that they were jokes.”

Grantaire is quiet for a few seconds. Enjolras wishes he could tear out his heart from his chest and stomp on it until it’s gone. It might hurt less than this.

“Why did you go along with it, then?” Grantaire asks, his voice hoarse. “If you knew they were jokes.”

Enjolras aches. This quiet passiveness is a million times worse than their arguments.

“I don’t know, I guess I wanted you to tell me if me being so ‘passionate’ made me good in bed after all, like you said,” he spits out, turning to him. He can feel the tears threatening to fall from his eyes, and he fucking hates that he’s about to cry, but he can’t help it. Grantaire’s eyes widen, and Enjolras is both sad and vindicated that Grantaire seems to know what he’s talking about.

“I’ve never said that to you,” Grantaire says, searching for something in his eyes. Enjolras is really upset, so he doesn’t care anymore. Fuck it, let him see how much that hurt him. Let Grantaire know how pathetic he’s been all these years, pining like an idiot.

“I heard you,” he says, his chin high. “Joly asked you what you thought of me and you said that.” He sounds childish to his own ears. “I must say, I’m really honored. I’ve always wanted to have someone lusting after me for years. I hope the wait paid off.” His lip wobbles, so he bites it, but he’s so angry he uses more force than necessary, making himself bleed. Fuck.

“Enjolras, that was years ago.” Grantaire is looking at him oddly. “I wasn’t even part of the group yet.”

Enjolras sucks some of the blood, tasting metal. It sours him even more. “Well, I have to respect your dedication,” he glowers.

Grantaire rolls his eyes. “Come on, stop it,” he tells him. “I’m sorry I said that, alright? That was a long time ago, I can’t believe you even remember it. I can’t believe _I_ remember it.” He pauses, looking down. “Is that really why you did it, then? To get back at me?”

Enjolras stares at him, fighting the urge to throttle him. “For fuck’s sake, of course not!” he cries, standing up. He can feel the tears running down his face and he hates it. “I fucking love you, you idiot! Do you seriously think I would do that? God.” He drags his hands down his face, exasperated.

Grantaire is completely still. He’s still sitting in the couch, staring at Enjolras. His expression is unreadable.

“Well,” Grantaire says quietly. “I think you made your point. You don’t have to rub it in,” he breathes heavily, staring at the ground. He stands up. “You should go.”

“Rub it in?” Enjolras asks, momentarily confused. He’s still raging, his chest hurts too much, and his lip is killing him, but what Grantaire said doesn’t make sense. “Rub _what_ in? What are you talking about?”

Grantaire sighs, looking tired. “I don’t want to do this,” he says, as if Enjolras wants to be bleeding all over his carpet. “I get it, I hurt your ego. But there’s no need to play with me like this. I’m so stupid.” He says it with a laugh, but it turns into a sob, just like when Enjolras was talking to Courfeyrac a few hours ago. God, who was he two hours ago? He feels like a different person. But Grantaire’s not done: “You could make me do anything, you didn’t have to sleep with me for that.”

“What?” Enjolras is thrown. Grantaire isn’t looking at him, his eyes glued to the floor. He’s still standing up. Enjolras walks towards him, but then stops. “I’m not playing with you,” he says, his heart in his throat. He goes over the words Grantaire just said, and the stupid hope he had been trying to drown resurfaces ferociously.

“Just stop,” Grantaire says, looking up at him. Enjolras could drown in his eyes. Oh, God, he doesn’t want to hope again, but he can’t help it. Enjolras walks until he’s only a step away from Grantaire, who stares up at him with wariness.

“I’m not playing,” Enjolras says again. He takes Grantaire’s hand in his and twines their fingers together, his heart hammering against his chest. “I’m not playing.” He kisses the back of Grantaire’s hand, then his knuckles. Grantaire gasps. “I love you,” he whispers against Grantaire’s fingers. Grantaire closes his eyes and breathes deeply. “I’ve loved you for a long time,” Enjolras says, unable to stop now. “I always thought you didn’t feel anything for me.”

“ _How_?” Grantaire is shaking his head. He opens his eyes. “That doesn’t make sense.”

“Really?” Enjolras asks faintly. “I heard you say I was basically only good enough to fuck, then you proceed to make jokes about how beautiful you think I am for years. You hookup with anyone you set eyes on, you even bring them to the meetings. How was I supposed to think otherwise?”

Enjolras really wishes Grantaire would confirm he feels the same way, though. He feels like he’s running with a blindfold on.

Grantaire groans and covers his face with the hand that Enjolras isn’t holding. He drags it all the way through his hair and shakes his head again. “Enjolras, you have no idea. Fuck, you really don’t know.” He holds Enjolras’ other hand in his, squeezing gently. Enjolras’ chest _aches_. “God, I’m so stupid. I’ve loved you since the moment I met you,” he says, a little hysterically. Enjolras’ heart stops. He thinks he’s going to faint.

There’s no way this is happening. No way. It’s been years. _Years_. Enjolras has been losing his mind for years, fighting against the desperate need to be close to Grantaire, to be in his life in some stupid way, yearning like mad. There’s no way Grantaire had been feeling the same way. This is so stupid. They’re both so stupid.

He doesn’t know who reaches for the other first, but before he knows it they’re embracing, Grantaire’s face buried deep in Enjolras’ neck. God, he missed Grantaire so much. He hides his face in Grantaire’s curls, their bodies slotting together perfectly. Enjolras holds him close. He wants to kiss him so bad. He’s been waiting for this for so long.

Grantaire lets go of him enough to look up at him. “I felt like a creep at first,” he starts, his blue eyes shining. “You pretty much hated me on sight, and I was losing my mind because you were literally perfect. I couldn’t stop wanting to be close to you. I was sure you would never look at me with anything other than disdain, but I didn’t care.” He clutches Enjolras even tighter. “That stupid comment,” he says abruptly, letting go of him again. “I didn’t think I was part of your club yet.” He looks at Enjolras with such an intensity that Enjolras is really sure he _will_ faint. “Joly and Bossuet pretty much came at me when I was drunker than I thought. I got scared. I panicked because I thought they would tell you, or they would tell everyone and then you would know somehow, and I didn’t want you to know how much power you had over me. Plus I thought it was creepy too, I barely knew you. I was already ready to lay down my life for you; it was too much for me to process.”

Enjolras’ mind is reeling. He needs to lie down. This is too much for him.

He drags Grantaire back to the couch and holds his hand again, obsessed with the way it feels pressed against his own. He kisses Grantaire knuckles again, and loves the little sigh that escapes Grantaire’s lips.

“I love you,” Grantaire whispers. “This is insane,” he says, scooting close to Enjolras. “These past few weeks have been hell.”

“I know,” Enjolras says, brushing his fingers along Grantaire’s stubble. “I missed you so much.” He’s so overwhelmed he’s at a loss for words. He thinks he should be saying more, should be letting Grantaire know how much this has affected him, how happy he is that they feel the same. He wants to be able to show Grantaire how much he loves him. Not just now, but always.

“Me too,” Grantaire sighs, leaning close.

The kiss begins incredibly slow, just a soft press of lips. Grantaire works Enjolras’ mouth open bit by bit. He bites on his lower lip gently, and Enjolras gasps, the pain from his own bite piercing through. Grantaire notices the cut and runs his tongue over it, the gesture so tender it makes Enjolras melt. He holds Grantaire’s face in his hands and kisses back, brushing his lips against Grantaire’s, letting his tongue slide inside his mouth. The kiss turns heady, Enjolras’ mind spinning out of control. He holds Grantaire close to him, humming when Grantaire runs his hands down Enjolras’ back. How was it possible to miss something so much when you’d only had it twice before? But he had, he’d missed it so, so much, this feeling of contentment and peace, mixed with the overwhelming pleasure leaving his nerves on edge. He’s so happy.

Grantaire gives him little kisses on his face when they break apart. He kisses the edge of Enjolras’ mouth, his nose, his cheek, his eyelid, his forehead, until Enjolras is laughing, so pleased he brings him back down and kisses his lips again.

“I love you,” he tells Grantaire between kisses, and Grantaire smiles.

He knows they still have a lot of things to talk about – many more things to clear up. It’s been many years, and they’re probably going to fight a lot, but it doesn’t matter.

Enjolras thinks they’re going to be fine.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! ♥ [tumblr](http://johnnsilvers.tumblr.com/) :)


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